


Baby Steps

by LinguistLove_24



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Feels, First Steps, Fluff and Humor, Friendship/Love, New Additions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-05 12:31:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11578140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinguistLove_24/pseuds/LinguistLove_24
Summary: "Bill had no doubt that if Hillary had her way, the next phase of family planning would not be done in baby steps. Their family of three would sooner rather than later be one bigger."*RE-POST/EDITS





	1. Chapter 1

**Baby Steps**

 

 

“Mum-um-um-um-um-um!” Ten-month-old Chelsea crawled up to the edge of her play pen, peered curiously over the edge as she slowly pulled herself up into a standing position.

 

 

“What're you doin', pretty?” Hearing her babbles from his post mere feet away in the kitchen, Bill made his way back into the room to check on her, fresh cup of coffee in hand.

 

 

“Mum-ma!” Chelsea exclaimed happily, extending a chubby pointer finger in no direction in particular and erupting into fits of giggles. Bill stood watching her with sparkling eyes, shook his head as he tried to control his own laughter.

 

 

“Mama's in the shower, love,” he said. “She'll be out soon.”

 

 

“Noooo!” she shrieked as if to challenge him, staring unblinkingly for a long second before starting to laugh even more heavily all over again.

 

 

“Yeah-huh!” Bill moved closer, bent down low enough so his lips brushed against the top of her head. “I love you.”

 

 

“Up!” she demanded forcefully as she raised her arms to him.

 

 

Setting his still steaming mug of brown liquid carefully down on the coffee table, he moved to oblige her request, effortlessly extracted her from the square pen and replaced her gently down onto the floor.

 

 

“Ball!” Chelsea screamed upon spotting the little yellow toy that had rolled across the floor at some point during the last few days and ended up situated against a wall at the other side of the room. “Mine!”

 

 

“Yes baby, I see,” Bill affirmed when she looked over her shoulder at him for approval. “Can you go get it?”

 

 

He knew she could, had seen her shuffle on hands and knees many times over, scouting it out regardless of where it lay, and laughed hysterically when she'd first caught on to how to roll it across the room so as to give it to him.

 

 

That particular morning was no exception, and he watched her scurry over to where the small object sat propped against the wall, situate herself on her bottom and use a light skinned, chubby hand to push it back to him.

 

 

“I got it!” Bill said with a smile, overplaying his excitement as he stopped it rolling with a foot.

 

 

“Mine!” Chelsea repeated emphatically as her father tapped against it with the toe of a shoe, returning it to her.

 

 

“Whatcha doing?” Hillary inquired cheerily as she emerged from the bathroom, vigorously towel drying her hair and tying a second one more tightly round her torso.

 

 

“Playin' ball,” Bill told her. “Pretty sure she wants it all for herself now, though.”

 

 

“She loves that thing,” the blonde said with a laugh. “Play room full of toys and all she ever wants is that freaking yellow ball.”

 

 

“Should've just bought twenty of 'em,” he smirked, rolling his eyes.

 

 

“Right? I need clothes,” his wife told him as she gave herself a once over. “Are you okay with her for another few minutes while I change and fix my hair?”

 

 

“Of course, take as long as you need.”

 

 

///

 

Fully clothed, hair dried, brushed and set into place, Hillary stood at the kitchen counter with her back to her child as she spooned apple sauce into a plastic bowl. Chelsea had been placed at the opposite end of the kitchen, her mother looking over her shoulder every so often to find her still preoccupied with her favourite little yellow ball. Only upon feeling light tugs to the hem of her pants did she realise a curious, ever spinning little mind had directed its attentions elsewhere.

 

 

“Well hello,” Hillary chuckled as she half turned and looked down, seeing she'd managed to pull herself up and was supporting her own weight by clinging tightly to her mother's legs. “Are you standing? Be careful.”

 

 

Though she'd mastered the art of crawling some time ago and had become more confident in using objects to raise and hold herself upright, walking had taken a little longer and was something she still hadn't quite gotten the hang of. Usually quite fearless, her inability to acquire the skill wasn't for lack of trying. She'd usually come to a point of releasing her hold on whatever it was that was supporting her and get scared at the feeling of imbalance.

 

 

“Mine!” Tiny eyes looked up, equally tiny finger jabbing the air in the direction of the apple sauce.

 

 

“Yes, actually, that is yours,” her mother nodded.

 

 

“Ummmm!” she hummed in approval.

 

 

“Yeah, yum. You're gonna have to give me my legs back if you want some, though,” Hillary laughed, feeling that her daughter still had her lower extremities held hostage. Reaching down, she disentangled the two of them from each other, lifted her up and made her way to the high chair situated at the far corner of the room.

///

 

 

“Dada!”

 

 

Bill had just made his way in from outside, taken it upon himself to watch the sunset from the porch while Hillary was upstairs getting Chelsea bathed and ready for bed. Freshly washed and smelling as only babies could, she'd called out to him as he sauntered into the living room. Clinging to the edge of the coffee table, she stood before him clad only in a diaper and socks.

 

 

“Your Highness decided she was having none of the whole pyjama situation tonight,” his wife laughed wryly as he cocked a brow in her direction.

 

 

“Oh, well I guess that's that then, huh?” he said as he knelt down so as to be on his child's level.

 

 

“Dada!” she said again, releasing the grip one hand held on the table ledge just the slightest bit.

 

 

Both parties picked up on the action and looked to one another wordlessly, wondering if they should get their hopes up.

 

 

“Yeah, Daddy's right there,” Hillary affirmed, extending a forefinger. “Go see him.”

 

 

“Hugs?” Bill questioned, holding his hands out palm up. “Please?”

 

 

Chelsea looked apprehensively between her parents, further lessened her grip on the edge of the table before moving her eyes down toward her feet.

 

 

“It's okay love,” her mother soothed, moving up closer behind her. “Daddy will catch you. Baby steps.”

 

 

Little eyes stared unblinkingly at Bill for long, slow minutes, wheels of a young mind turning as if processing whether or not to trust him. Finally, after he'd nodded his encouragement for the third time, little hands lifted completely from the table.

 

 

Slowly, steadily, more confident with every passing second, pint sized feet pushed themselves one in front of the other.

 

 

“Two more steps,” her father said excitedly as she inched closer. Once he'd scooped her up into his arms, tears fell, silent and free, and he didn't think he'd ever felt prouder of anything in his life.

 

 

“You just walked _all_ that way, all by yourself,” Hillary cooed to her, gesturing across the floorspace which separated them once Bill had situated her on his knee so she was facing her mother.

 

 

“Yay!” Chelsea said emphatically, clapping plump little hands together. All three of them broke into laughter simultaneously, unable to stop until their stomachs hurt.

 

 

“What do you think?” Bill asked of her once his breathing had evened out. “You want another one?” He tilted his chin toward Chelsea, whose laughter had turned into fits of the hiccups.

 

 

“Oh, definitely.”

 

 

“How soon?”

 

 

“Yesterday,” she told him sarcastically, eyes sparkling as laughter bubbled up again. As she threw her head back unable to stifle it, Bill had no doubt that if Hillary had her way, the next phase of family planning would not be done in baby steps. Their family of three would sooner rather than later be one bigger.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

“Maybe I should call Bill back home for you?”

 

 

Hillary was situated on the bathroom floor, cool of the tile penetrating the fabric of her clothes and providing relief to feverish skin as she sat with legs tucked underneath her body. As her insides somersaulted for what felt like the hundredth time, she bowed her head over the bowl of the toilet, vaguely aware of the gentle ministrations of one of her closest friends holding blonde tresses away from the nape of her neck as she waited for it all to be over.

 

 

“No, no. Don't do that. He's got a lot on his plate today, I don't want to bother him,” she responded when her body took mercy on her and allowed her to come up for long, slow breaths of air.

 

 

“Hill, he's your husband, I'm sure he wouldn't care whether you disturbed him. He'd drop anything for you.”

 

 

“Which is exactly why I don't want to do it,” she said sternly, casting a hard, unblinking gaze to the woman behind her. “He needs to get done what needs doing. I won't be the reason he doesn't. I'm a big girl, I can handle myself.”

 

 

“Mum-ma!?” Both ladies heard the two-year-old voice on the other side of the door at exactly the same time. Hillary screwed her eyes shut as yet another wave of nausea engulfed her and wondered how she was going to talk her weakened body into pushing through the duties of motherhood when at ten thirty in the morning, she already felt as if she were knocking on death's door.

 

 

“Oh, God. Chelsea...” she groaned, spreading her upper half across the bowl in a gesture of total defeat.

 

 

“I've got her,” her friend offered quickly. “I'll stay with you.”

 

 

“I don't think I've ever loved you more in my whole entire life,” Hillary told her, both exasperated and appreciative. “Thank you so much. I'm _so_ sorry you had to see me like this today.”

 

 

“Don't even worry about it, love. Happens to the best of us. And you're welcome. I'll get Chelsea settled and then come back and help get you into bed. That's where you should be.” 

 

 

She nodded almost imperceptibly as she watched one of her oldest and closest friends make her way out to the other side of the door where her child was no doubt standing impatiently. Were it anyone else, she'd be mortified at their bearing witness to her in such a state but was glad given her condition she didn't have to be.

 

 

///

 

“Mum-ma?!” Chelsea tapped a chubby index finger to the outside of the closed door and peered inquisitively at it.

 

 

“Yes honey, Mama's in there. But we have to be  _really_ quiet because she doesn't feel good, okay? Come with me.” 

 

 

“Noooo! Mum-ma!” Chelsea protested loudly, fat wet droplets escaping her eyes and rolling down her cheeks as cries turned to full out wails. “Mum-maaaa!”

 

 

“Ooh, love, she's okay I promise.”

 

 

The older woman crouched down in front of the toddler and opened her arms as a gesture of both peace and compassion. After a few long, slow minutes, Chelsea seemed to calm and feel as though she could trust her mother's confidante to adequately take her place for the time being. Tiny feet stepped tentatively closer, allowed for strong arms to encompass her tiny frame and pull it protectively into her lap.

 

 

“You wanna read a story? We can go up to your room and I'll read whatever book you want.”

 

 

“Book!” Chelsea said excitedly, smiling for the first time since she'd gone in search of her mother.

 

 

“Yeah, book. Come? I'll take you upstairs.”

 

 

“Book, book, book, book, book.” Chelsea repeated happily, her stand in care taker situating her on one hip and taking her declarations as an emphatic 'yes'.

 

 

///

 

“... _And there were three little bears sitting on chairs,_

_and two little kittens,_

_and a pair of mittens,_

_and a little toy house,_

_and a young mouse,_

_and a comb and a brush and a bowl full of mush....”_

 

 

“Bear!” Young eyes slowly closed, resisting sleep. Chelsea's pointer finger extended lazily toward the drawing of a bear with thick, brown fur on the page before her as her mother's friend read for a fourth time from  _Good night Moon_ .

 

 

“Sleep, baby,” she whispered softly. Almost as if unable to fight fatigue any longer, the young child complied, the woman opposite her setting the book on a side table and making to leave from the room to check on Hillary. It had to have been at least a good forty five minutes since she'd left her and guilt caused her to take the steps two at a time.

 

 

///

 

“I'm awake,” Hillary said gruffly as blue eyes fluttered open and she caught the shape of her friend's silhouette peeping in at her from the doorway.

 

 

She'd worried when she'd finally made her way down the stairs and hadn't found Hillary stationed beside the toilet where she'd previously been, but smiled to herself after finding that she'd made her way into bed and fallen asleep. In the hours since, she'd checked in on her multiple times, each one still seeing her dead to the world.

 

 

“Is Chelsea okay?”

 

 

“She's fine,” the other woman said to the blonde as she stepped tentatively into the room and situated herself on the edge of the bed. “Colouring away in her high chair at the moment. Had a decent nap earlier after I read and re-read  _ Goodnight Moon _ .”

 

“She  _ loves _ that book,” Hillary chuckled. “Bill must've read it to her a hundred times just in the last month.”

 

 

“It's a classic,” she smiled. “How're you feeling? Can I get you anything? Do you think you're gonna get sick again?”

 

 

“I'm okay,” she extended a light, warm smile. “Not as bad as this morning. Thank you for staying.”

 

 

“My pleasure, was no trouble at all. I did call Bill earlier and tell him what's been going on, but once I assured him everything was well under control he promised not to come home unless absolutely needed.”

 

 

“You could go home now if you wanted,” Hillary told her. “It's gotta be getting late. I'll be all right.”

 

 

“Nonsense,” she admonished with a dismissive wave of the hand. “It's only just past six. I've nowhere pressing to be. I can stay until Bill gets back.”

 

 

“Well, all right. If you insist.” A porcelain hand reached for the lamp closest to her side of the bed and Hillary propped herself higher up on a pile of pillows when soft light illuminated the area around them enough for her to see properly.

 

 

“Hill, I think maybe you should take this.” Wordlessly, she placed a small box between the two of them, laying it gently atop the covers spread over her friend.

 

 

“A pregnancy test?” Hillary's brow arched involuntarily. “I can't be..”

 

 

“Why not? I mean, you're throwing up like crazy, sensitive to smells, exhausted...”

 

 

“All of that could be due to the fact I've a busy life and I've come down with the flu.”

 

 

“You've been trying, haven't you?”

 

 

“Well yeah, but we didn't think.. I mean...” The sentence trailed off, she unsure of how to finish it.

 

 

“When was your last period?” If it were any other friend, Hillary would have found the question invasive, but it wasn't; instead caused the wheels of her mind to turn, thinking back.

 

 

“Quite a while ago, now that you mention it.”

 

 

“Long ago enough that you could be pregnant?”

 

 

“Maybe,” she whispered softly, not daring to get her hopes up as she tried to quash the bass of a quickening heartbeat thudding loudly in her ears.

 

 

///

 

_ “Take it,”  _ her friend had told her just before Bill had arrived back home. “ _ What's the worst that could happen?” _

 

 

_ That I get my hopes up only to be disappointed,  _ she'd thought to herself. As much as she deeply loved and appreciated her circle of friends – knew the feelings were reciprocated – she couldn't make those without children understand how deeply she desired another baby, how hard it had hit each time efforts to achieve that goal proved futile.

 

 

“Two more minutes,” she said out loud to herself as she stood looking at the reflection staring back at her in the mirror above the bathroom sink. “Longest two minutes of my life.”

 

 

The test stick sat on the vanity close to her. She didn't know whether she wanted to know the results at all, whether she could bring herself to look down at it once the moment presented itself. 

 

 

///

 

“You and Hillary should talk.” Bill had just stepped in through the front door, stood watching his wife's friend pull on her outerwear as he relieved her of care-taking duties.

 

 

“Why?” he asked, slightly panicked. “What's wrong? Where is she?”

 

“She's fine,” she reassured, smiling warmly. “Both she and Chelsea are absolutely fine. She should be out of the bathroom in a minute. There are just some things that aren't my place to disclose, no matter how close to her I may be.”

 

 

“Okay,” he said as he looked on, bewildered.

 

 

Half turning with a hand still resting on the doorknob, she smiled again. “Just talk to her.”

 

 

As he watched her walk away, Bill went in search of his wife, more confused than ever.

 

 

///

 

“Are you okay?!” Hillary was standing stock still outside of the bathroom, face expressionless, eyes unblinking. He'd almost knocked her over. “What's going on?”

 

 

“Congratulations Daddy,” she said softly, slow smile spreading across her face and reaching all the way to her eyes. She clung tighter to the test stick in the palm of one hand, casting her gaze to it anew in search of reassurance.

 

 

Two bold lines burned themselves into her retinas.

 

Positive.

 

 

Very, very positive.

 

“What?” Bill asked when he finally found his voice. “Are you....?”

 

 

“I'm pregnant,” she nodded, eyes glistening.

 

 

“We're gonna have a baby?” His feet felt as if they were glued to the floor, heart thudding in his throat.

 

 

“Yeah,” she smiled. “Are you happy?”

 

 

Wordlessly, he scooped her up into his arms, she shrieking at the unexpectedness of it. “Bill!” she laughed into his neck, the sound muted only slightly as her lips were close to the collar of his shirt.

 

 

“What do you think?” he asked sarcastically, his own blues shining as they bore into hers. “Do you think I'm happy?”

 

 

“Well I sure hope so,” she winked.

 

 

“God, I love you. We have so many people to call,” he said excitedly, returning her softly to the floor. “And we're gonna have to pick a colour for the nursery, and explain to Chelsea what's going on.”

 

 

Heavy laughter bubbled up from her depths all over again as she watched her husband become more and more animated.

 

 

“It's only been half a day,” she cackled, eyes alight. “Baby steps, my darling. Baby steps.”

 

 

As she instinctively pulled him to her and found his lips, magic between their bodies searing her insides, she began to believe some of the best things in life happened in exactly that way.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“You're awake.”

 

Bill smiled warmly down at his wife, who lay stretched out across the heavily cushioned chaise situated in the middle of their front deck. The novel she'd half finished reading was perched face down, her steadily protruding belly having turned into a makeshift table. Tired eyes peered up at him as she moved shades off her face, setting them next to her thigh.

 

“I am,” Hillary told him, half smile quickly morphing into a yawn. “I'm not sure for how long, though.”

 

“You can go back to sleep if you want to,” Bill said softly, picking up his wife's shades and sticking them in his shirt pocket so as to be able to sit close to her. “Everything's fine in the house.”

 

“Chelsea's not hungry?” Hillary asked him skeptically, glancing briefly at her wristwatch, using a free hand to shield its face from the sun's glare. “It's almost one thirty.”

 

“She's fine. I gave her some grilled cheese and apple sauce. Heated some milk not long ago and it didn't take her long to fall asleep. She's upstairs napping now. I just checked on her before comin' out here.”

 

“You're amazing,” she said, genuinely appreciative. “Thank you.”

 

“You don't have to thank me,” Bill chuckled softly as he bent to touch down on her mouth. “I love doting on you and nugget.”

 

“Nugget?” Hillary questioned dryly, eyes twinkling and brow shooting upward. “That's a new one.”

 

“Well, I've gotta call her somethin', don't I? It's not like we've agreed on any names so far.”

 

“I know,” she said, sighing. “But we will. We've a while yet to figure it out. It could be a boy, you know.” Hillary's eyes danced at the expression her last words caused to manifest across Bill's face.

 

“I don't think so,” he said. “It's definitely a little girl.”

 

“That's what you want?” Hillary questioned, shifting her weight and making room for her husband to lie down next to her.

 

“I want it to be healthy,” he said seriously, blue orbs locking on her face. He smiled when he noted her cheeks had become plumper.

 

“Well, I know, love. We both want that.” Short porcelain fingers ran a gentle rhythm through his salt and pepper hair. “But if you could choose, you'd want it to be a girl?”

 

“Yeah,” Bill whispered. “I think so. I wasn't sure how well I'd relate to a little girl the first time around, but I've _loved_ being Chelsea's father.”

 

Hillary's eyes watered. “You're so good with her. Watching the two of you is one of my absolute favourite things.” 

 

“Is it? Watching you two together is one of my favourites, too.”

 

“I was reading her a bedtime story last night,” Hillary hummed softly, eyes closing while her fingers still subconsciously ran through her husband's locks. “Some book about having a sibling. She pointed to my stomach and said 'baby'”.

 

Bill laughed. “I don't think she cares what it is,” he said. “I've asked her whether she wants a brother or sister and she always says both.” 

 

Hillary's eyes flew open and a deep laugh escaped her. “Oh, Lord. She's not said that to me, but that's definitely not happening. I think I'm done after this next one.”

 

“I think a family of four of us is big enough,” Bill said, nodding his agreement. “With how busy we are.”

 

“It's about to get a whole lot busier, sweetheart,” his wife laughed. “You sure you're ready?” 

 

“I don't think you're ever ready,” he said honestly. “But I've never been more excited in my life.”

 

“Me neither.” Hillary smiled, resting one hand across her abdomen and pressing lightly down. “He's moving,” she whispered, peering at her husband. 

 

“He?” Bill chuckled, playing his tongue through his teeth as he gently covered one of his wife's small hands with his own. Almost as if trying to prove a point, the life nestled safely within her womb kicked forcefully against Bill's hand, causing him to pull back. 

 

“Woah,” he breathed. “We've got ourselves a feisty one.”

 

“Gets it from his Mama,” Hillary winked, laughing. 

 

“I'm not even gonna comment on that,” Bill retorted. “I'd rather not find myself sleeping on the couch tonight.”

 

She nudged him playfully on the shoulder before nestling her face further into it. “You smell good,” she mumbled after extended silence. 

 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, fanning long, elegant fingers over his wife's cheek whilst looking lovingly at her. “You're beautiful.”

 

“I'm pregnant,” Hillary said flatly. 

 

“I know,” Bill said. “But you're still beautiful. Even if you don't feel it.”

 

Chelsea's wails wafted down the stairs and through the screen door Bill had left open when he'd first come out.

 

“I'll get her,” Hillary said, having been jolted out of her quietude. “She's probably gonna want Mummy.”

 

“No,” Bill cooed, impeding her ability to rise all the way to full height. “Don't get up. I can bring her to you.”

 

///

 

“Mama!” Chelsea screamed happily from her position on her father's hip as he re-emerged from the house.

 

“Chelsea!” Hillary screamed back the same way, eliciting a round of giggles. “Did you have a good nap?”

 

“Uh-huh,” she nodded. “All done!” 

 

“Mama was nappin' too while you were upstairs,” Bill told her, kissing a tiny cheek before placing her down on the deck. Little feet instantly scurried over to the chaise where Hillary was still situated. “All done?” Chelsea questioned, trying her hardest to climb up onto the furniture to be close to her mother. 

 

Hillary's eyes sparkled, and she gently hoisted the child's upper torso onto the cushions. “Yeah, Mummy's all done napping too 'cause you woke me up,” she laughed. 

 

“Oopsie!!” Chelsea said. As she manoeuvred her legs up under her, she moved to occupy the space next to Hillary which Bill had previously vacated. “I sorry.”

 

Hillary bit back laughter. “That's okay, love.” She caught her husband in her peripheral as he came closer and tossed his daughter's book gently onto his wife's legs.

 

“Book!” Chelsea said emphatically, smiling happily. “Read, Mama?”

 

“You want Mummy to read that book  _again_ ?” Hillary asked in mock exasperation, eyes alight.

 

“Again!!” Chelsea echoed, laughing heavily. “Please?”

 

“Well since you asked  _so_ nicely,” her mother told her, “I guess I could. Come lay next to Mummy and don't squirm and she'll read it. You turn the pages for me though, okay?”

 

“Okay!” Chelsea answered happily, laying still next to Hillary and propping up the picture book. 

 

“The Berenstain Bears' New Baby,” Hillary read aloud, waiting for Chelsea's pudgy little fingers to grip and turn the title page.

 

“Baby!” she said excitedly, releasing her hold on one side of the book and pointing toward her mother's belly. 

 

“Is that what's in there?” Bill asked her from his position across the deck in a folding chair. 

 

“Yeah!”

 

“Is Mama havin' a boy baby or a girl baby?”

 

“Ummm,” Chelsea hummed, thinking hard. “I don't know!” Tiny shoulders moved up and down in a shrugging motion.

 

“Do you want a sister or a brother?” Hillary questioned, barely able to help her daughter prop up the book from laughing so hard.

 

“Brudder!” She stated decisively. 

 

“I guess I'm outnumbered now,” Bill laughed dryly. “We'll have to wait and see.”

 

“Read more, Mama!” Chelsea had turned the page and was gesticulating emphatically toward the illustrations on one side, trying to get her mother's attention.

 

“Use your manners,” Hillary's voice was stern, but not unkind. 

 

“Please,” Chelsea responded softly, snuggling closer. 

 

“Thank you.” The toddler let go and allowed her mother to hold the book up of her own accord. As she began to read again, she felt the tickle of little fingers just above her navel. Blindly finding her child's hand, Hillary rested hers atop it.

 

Sensing both presence and voices, her unborn moved again, Chelsea flinching in surprise.

 

“Baby?” she asked, looking toward Hillary's abdomen in extreme confusion.

 

“Yeah,” Hillary said with a half smile, pausing her reading mid sentence. “That's your brother. He's saying he loves you.”

 

“Love you!” Chelsea laughed, waving a tiny hand.

 

“Give him kisses,” Hillary told her. “He can't see you yet.” Lifting her blouse from the bottom upward so a small portion of swelled abdomen was bare and showing, Chelsea pursed her lips and planted them where her mother's forefinger was pointed.

 

“Love you baby!” she singsonged happily after resuming her previous position. 

 

As Hillary flew through the final pages of her daughter's favourite book and young eyes fell slowly closed once more, she gestured for her husband to make his way across to her. Happily obliging, Bill rose from his chair, stretching out on the chaise's opposite side when proximity allowed for it.

 

Closing her own eyes, she revelled in the intoxicating scent of her husband, the blessing of her family. Each of her babies were healthy and as close to her as the moment permitted them to be.

 

Most accomplishments happened in baby steps, her own no exception. But as she lay there in the quiet, face caressed by the afternoon sun, she knew the best was yet to come. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Staring into the bedroom mirror, Hillary stood contemplating her ever changing reflection. The slow, deliberate movement of pale hands across a bulging abdomen and widening hips caused a hastily tied knot at the top of her towel to loosen, and she allowed it to fall to the ground with a soft thud, resting in a pile around her ankles.

 

The sound of knuckles softly touching down against wood of the open door bounced off the walls around her, but she didn't turn, didn't flinch, didn't make any attempt to move.

 

“S'matter, love?” Bill asked in hushed tones as he tiptoed into the room. Situating himself behind his wife, he rested a gargantuan hand on each one of her shoulders, elegant fingers sprawling out over the ridges. He felt her reach upward and briefly clasp the ends of his fingers, but the expression that met him in the mirror's glass remained hollow and vacant.

 

“Nothing,” Hillary told him with a long, heavy sigh. “I just don't feel well.”

 

“No?” He inhaled the scent of body wash that seemed to cling to the skin at the crook of her neck, mingled with the effusion of coconut still lingering in her hair. “What can I do?”

 

“Short of coaxing this child out from inside my womb,” she stated dryly, “nothing.”

 

Bill looked apologetically at her. “I wish I could make you feel better,” he said sincerely. “Since I'm the one who put him there in the first place.”

 

Hillary's eyes slowly lit up, tongue playing through her teeth. “Him? That's the first time you've ever referred to it as a boy.”

 

“The idea's growin' on me,” he chuckled lightly. His wife slowly turned in his arms, and he rested his hands at her hips – pleasantly surprised to find them even more voluptuous than usual.

 

“I'm beyond happy about this baby,” Hillary told him. “I am. I just feel so uncomfortable and restless.. and fat,” she added as an afterthought.

 

“You are not fat,” Bill said emphatically.

 

“Tell that to all the things in my closet that don't fit anymore.” She ran a hand through nearly dried locks of hair, catching in her peripheral all of the outfits she'd discarded onto the bed during a fit of inconsolable dissatisfaction. “We have so many things on the go and I can't even finish getting dressed in the morning.”

 

“Baby,” Bill said, moving his hands up to lightly grip her shoulders and trying to conceal the first hints of exasperation. “I know. I know the nursery is torn apart and we haven't picked a colour or put together the furniture. I know this baby doesn't even almost have a name, and I know you are tired from having to take care of a toddler and just generally feeling badly about yourself, but you need to relax. Stress is not good for you or the baby. All of it will get done, I promise you.”

 

“I'm sorry,” Hillary mouthed, eyes softening as she gazed up at him. “You've been so patient and I've hardly even thanked you for that. I can be such a bitch. I do appreciate you, I swear.”

 

“I know you do,” he told her. “I know the mood swings aren't intentional.” Brushing a thumb across one of her cheeks, he touched down on her mouth, lingering there when his wife's body language encouraged it. “Put some clothes on,” he said as he pulled back. “You've got goosebumps.”

 

“I'm just gonna wear pyjamas if I don't have to go anywhere with you? I'm tired of looking for something that fits.”

 

“You do whatever makes you comfortable, darling. I've a couple calls to make, but I'll be back in a little while. Maybe we can take another look at that baby book later and write down names we actually agree on.”

 

“Sure,” Hillary mumbled from her position bent over an open dresser drawer.

 

Bill exited the room and headed for the kitchen, Chelsea tottering in to take up the space he had just vacated.

 

“Mum!!?” she said excitedly, clinging to the bottoms of Hillary's legs once she found her.

 

“What, baby?”

 

“Look!!” The toddler held up a piece of white paper, an assortment of coloured scribbles and blobs fanned out over it.

 

“Ooh, nice,” Hillary said enthusiastically as she returned to full height with a pair of her husband's old and stretched pyjamas in her arms. “Is that yours?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Chelsea smiled. “I made!”

 

“You coloured it?”

 

“Uh-huh! For Mummy!”

 

“For me?” Hillary laughed. “Well thank you. Let go of Mummy's legs so she can get dressed and then I can go put it over by our bed with the other pictures, okay?”

 

“I do it, Mama!” Chelsea answered, releasing her hold on her mother's limbs and running over toward the night stand on Hillary's side of the bed, frames filled with photos situated atop it.

 

“Okay, be careful,” Hillary warned. “Don't let any of the other stuff tip over.”

 

“I did it!” Chelsea shrieked after a moment, making Hillary jump. “Look Mama!”

 

Stepping into the oversized legs of Bill's old lounge pants and pulling them up round her waist, Hillary cast a sideways glance to where her daughter was standing. The picture she had drawn was situated semi upright behind two other picture frames housing family portraits.

 

“Good job, honey,” she said, genuinely impressed at how well Chelsea had followed instructions.

 

“Up?” The child questioned, changing the subject and pointing at her parents' mattress.

 

“Yeah, you can get up there if you want to, do you need help?”

 

“No Mummy, I do it!” Chelsea said, determined.

 

“Okay, you do it.” Hillary chuckled as she watched her, taking in her face reddening in concentration and the series of tiny grunts the effort elicited.

 

“All done!” she shrieked happily when she'd finally shimmied her way up.

 

“Good girl,” Hillary praised, stepping closer.

 

“Night night Mummy,” Chelsea giggled, flopping down, puny torso sprawling out across one corner of the bed.

 

“Oh, you going to bed?” her mother asked her, eyes twinkling as she tried to fight a belly laugh.

 

“Yes Mummy, I sleepy,” she said. “Night night.”

 

Hillary covered her mouth to stifle the loudness of her guffaws, not wanting to disturb Bill on the phone in the kitchen adjacent them.

 

///

 

Finished with all important and pressing matters, Bill stood in the kitchen waiting for a fresh pot of coffee to finish percolating. Once the drip stopped, he removed the pot from its place on the carafe and added a desired amount of liquid to his cup, stirring in milk and sugar.

 

Sauntering over to his previous post next to the wall phone, he picked up the receiver and dialled a number he had learned by heart. He glanced cautiously around himself, double checking to be sure Hillary was still out of earshot.

 

His wife's best friend picked up on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

 

“Betsy,” Bill smiled into the phone. “It's Bill.”

 

“Oh, hey,” she said. “Why are you whispering?”

 

Bill laughed. “I'm trying to hide this conversation from Hillary. She's in our bedroom with Chelsea.”

 

“Ah,” Betsy answered. “What're you planning?” she laughed.

 

“Well,” Bill started, accent dripping thickly down the telephone lines. “Hill's been having a bit of a hard time lately.”

 

“Is she okay?” Betsy asked, worried.

 

“She's fine,” Bill assured her. “Just hormonal and pregnant,” he chuckled. “She's really frustrated that none of her clothes are fitting any more and stressing out over the nursery not being done on top of everything else we both need to do every day.

 

“So I was thinking, y'all haven't seen each other in a good while. What if you came down here and spent some time together? You could coax her out of the house to go get some new clothes or get her mind off of things for a day and it'd give me time to finish the nursery so it doesn't look like a hurricane ran through it.”

 

“How soon do you want me?” Betsy answered without hesitation.

 

“Next week?” Bill asked.

 

“I'll clear my schedule,” she told him. “How long do you want me to stay?”

 

“However long you want, honey,” Bill laughed. “Our house is your house, you know that.”

 

“All right,” she told him warmly. “I'll pack for a while. You're not gonna tell her I'm coming?”

 

“Nope. She will be in the dark until you get here.”

 

“Perfect,” Betsy said. “I won't say a word.”

 

“All right,” Bill said with affection. “We'll see you soon.”

 

“You bet. Take care.”

 

“Bye bye.” Replacing the receiver in its hanging cradle, Bill stood and made his way back to their bedroom.

 

“Hi,” he said softly as he commanded the door jamb.

 

“She's sleeping,” Hillary whispered from her position next to their daughter, placing a forefinger to her lips. “I'm afraid she'll wake up if I stir.”

 

Bill smiled, made his way over to the bed and crawled across it, situating himself on his wife's opposite side. “She's so cute when she sleeps,” he murmured, propping himself up to peer down at his sleeping child who lay curled into her mother with a thumb stuck in her mouth.

 

“I know,” Hillary agreed. “You ready to do this all over again?”

 

“I can't wait.” He nodded toward the baby book, situated upside down on his wife's night table. “Were you looking through that?”

 

“A little bit,” Hillary nodded. “Chelsea was helping me pick names.”

 

“Yeah?” He reached over blindly, entwined his fingers with Hillary's and rested their joined hands over her bump. “Did y'all find any you both like?”

 

“Yes, actually,” she said. “But just one.”

 

“Oh?” Bill raised a brow. “A boy name?”

 

“Mm.”

 

“What is it?” he asked her.

 

“Blake.”

 

Whispering the appellation repeatedly, he let it roll over his tongue, take up space in his head before formulating an answer. “I quite like that, to be honest,” Bill told her, meeting her gaze.

 

“Do you?” Hillary questioned, excited. “I asked Chels if she did and she was very enthusiastic,” she laughed.

 

“Was she? Well, I guess that's settled then.”

 

“You can pick the girl name,” Hillary told him softly, pressing his hand into her abdomen and letting tired eyes fall shut.

 

“Really?”

 

“Mmhmm. It's only fair. We can decide middle names together.”

 

“Okay,” Bill consented, content, touching his lips to her hair.

 

“Honey?” Hillary spoke up long after her husband assumed her to be sleeping.

 

“Mm?”

 

“Who were you on the phone with earlier?” She opened her eyes, but didn't turn to look at him.

 

“Nobody, baby. Just work related stuff.”

 

“Oh, okay,” Hillary responded sleepily, drifting off.

 

Bill smiled into the dimly lit open space. He'd thus far successfully pulled one over on his wife.

 


	5. Chapter 5

“Daddy!” Chelsea called happily over her shoulder from her post situated on a stool by the kitchen window. “Look!”

 

“What am I lookin' at, babe?” Bill asked her, sauntering over to stand next to her clad in nothing but boxer shorts and socks, beads of sweat brought on by Arkansas heat dripping from his skin.

 

“Car!” Chelsea told him, pointing ahead of the glass at the beat up Buick pulling into the laneway.

 

“Yeah,” Bill half smiled. “Whose car is it? Can you see who's in there?”

 

Chelsea squinted, concentrating hard. “No,” she said, shaking her head in disappointment.

 

“Who did Daddy say was comin' that we couldn't tell Mummy about?”

 

“Betsy!” she singsonged, eyes sparkling.

 

“I think that's her,” Bill laughed. “You wanna go say hi?”

 

“Yeah! Come Daddy!” She scrambled off the stool, running toward the screen door, looked expectantly at her father over her shoulder once she got to it.

 

“Daddy's gotta stay here and open the door for y'all on your way back in,” Bill chuckled. “You go say hi. Wait til the car stops and she opens the door to go up to her though, okay?”

 

“Okay.” Chelsea reached out a plump little hand and used all her strength to push the door open. Standing on the deck a good five minutes, she squinted in the bright sunlight as she watched Betsy's car pull up and come to a stop. Once her mother's friend had opened the driver's side door and stuck a leg out, the toddler took the steps two at a time and made a beeline for her.

 

“Betsy!” she waved when she got close enough. The older woman unlatched her belt and turned in her seat to peer down at her friend's daughter, feet placed firmly outside the vehicle on the gravel.

 

“Hi baby girl,” Betsy smiled. “What're you doing out here? Where's your Mama?”

 

“Sleepin',” Chelsea told her. “Daddy let me come out.”

 

“Did he? Well let's go inside, yeah? It's hot.” She stepped from the vehicle and reached out a hand, but Chelsea stood rooted to the spot, didn't take it.

 

“Up!” she said.

 

“You want me to pick you up?” Betsy intoned, brow raised.

 

“Uh-huh,” Chelsea nodded.

 

“What do you say?”

 

_“Please?”_ Chelsea questioned, batting her eyelashes. 

 

Betsy laughed, hoisted the toddler up onto her right hip, noting how much heavier she'd gotten. 

 

“My gosh, you're so big now. What's mummy feeding you?!”

 

“Vegetables,” Chelsea laughed hysterically into the crook of her shoulder. “She makes me eat 'em.”

 

Betsy cackled, gasping for breath as she made her way into the house. “You're my favourite,” she said.

 

///

 

“Hey love,” Bill half smiled, holding the door open with one arm as Betsy walked through it, his child still in her arms. “Where's all your stuff?” 

 

“In my trunk,” she told him, setting Chelsea to the floor. “This one didn't want to walk all the way back inside.” She touched a palm affectionately to the top of the child's head. 

 

“She never does,” Bill guffawed. “Almost getting too big to lift.”

 

“I noticed,” Betsy said. “When'd that happen?” 

 

“Musta been when I blinked,” he said, tongue sticking through his teeth. Betsy turned, rested a hand on the screen door as if to push it open again and make her way back to her car before Bill stopped her. “Stay inside. Much cooler in here,” he said, gazing around at the many fans taking up all usable outlets. “I'll get your bags.”

 

“Oh, thanks.” She smiled gratefully, opening the door for him to make his way through. “Chelsea said Hill's still sleeping?” 

 

“Yeah,” Bill said from the other side. “She didn't get much sleep last night, pretty restless.”

 

Betsy nodded. 

 

“She doesn't wake up soon she won't sleep tonight either,” he said. “You can go wake her if you want.” 

 

“Daddy!” Chelsea piped up. “Can I come?” 

 

“No baby,” Bill said. “Daddy's just gonna get Betsy's stuff out of her trunk. You stay here.” 

 

“Noo,” Chelsea whined. “I help you!”

 

Bill sighed, running a hand over his slick, sweat covered face. It was not the time or temperature for his daughter to throw one of her tantrums. Loathing the mere idea of it, he relented. “All right,” he told her. “Come on. But no more whining, okay?” 

 

“Okay Daddy,” she agreed happily, toddling through the door Betsy again held open. “Thank you,” she said over her shoulder from outside. 

 

“You're welcome,” Betsy called, letting it click shut and turning toward the master bedroom.

 

///

 

Betsy tiptoed into the space. The air was stuffy for all the heat and tightly shut windows, lighting dimmed by way of drawn blinds. Peering off to the side, she took in Hillary's sleeping form, covered by the thick of comforters and the fan still blowing directly on her, fanning her hair out over the pillows. 

 

“Hill?” she said gently, stepping closer to Bill's empty side of the bed. 

 

Her friend remained dead to the world, didn't even stir. 

 

“Hillary?” Betsy repeated, louder. “Honey, wake up.”

 

Nothing. 

 

She stepped closer still, so that her shins lightly touched the frame before bending at the knees to crawl across the mattress, stopping next to Hillary's head. 

 

“Hillary Diane Rodham Clinton,” she whispered close to her ear. “Wake up.”

 

Hillary startled. “Hmmmpph?!” she grumbled, eyes still closed. “Bill? What time is it?” 

 

“Well I would hope I don't sound like Bill,” Betsy guffawed. “It's just past ten thirty.”

 

Beginning to recognise the voice and thinking her groggy mind was deceiving her, Hillary slowly opened one eye, peering through it incredulously when she realised the sight before her wasn't a mirage. “Betsy?! What the fuck?” She sat fully upright, rubbing her eyes and coming to.

 

“Hi,” her friend laughed. “Nice hair.”

 

Hillary self consciously ran a hand through her mess of bed head before pulling Betsy closer to her. “What the hell are you doing all the way out here?!” 

 

“Bill called and asked me to come,” she explained. “He's been worried about you. Figured you could use a friend.” 

 

“He never said anything to me.” 

 

“Because he meant to surprise you,” Betsy told her. 

 

“I can't believe I didn't figure it out,” she said, shaking her head. “I'm so happy to see you! How long are you staying?”

 

“I'm not sure yet,” Betsy said honestly. “I cleared my schedule for the rest of the week, but I packed enough to stay longer if I'm wanted or needed.” 

 

“You're always wanted,” Hillary assured. “I missed you so much.”

 

“Me too,” she countered. “Now get up and get dressed. I'm taking you out today.”

 

“Out where?” Hillary's expression was apprehensive. She loathed the thought of having to scour her closet for something that would make her look presentable enough. 

 

“You'll see.” Betsy's eyes twinkled. “Get a shower and get ready.” 

 

///

 

“You manage to wake her up?” Bill questioned from his position in front of the coffee carafe as he saw Betsy walk into the kitchen. 

 

“Yeah, she's in the shower now. Doesn't know what we're doing today, but I'm hoping she'll relax and have fun.”

 

Bill nodded. “What d'you have planned?” 

 

“Maternity shopping, lunch, and mani-pedis,” she told him with a smile. “In that order. I figured she'd need to wind down by the end of the day.” 

 

“I'm sure she'll appreciate it,” Bill told her. “Thank you for coming.”

 

“Hey, what're friends for, right?”

 

“You want coffee, darlin'?” he asked her, extending the pot in her direction. “I can fix you a cup while you're waitin' for Hill.”

 

“Sure,” Betsy said gratefully. “Thanks.”

 

“No problem. How d'you take it?” 

 

“Black is fine,” she smiled, and Bill nodded, handing her a cup. 

 

“Does Hill know Dorothy's on her way down?” 

 

“Nope,” Bill smiled. “Not a clue.” 

 

“She's gonna lose it,” Betsy grinned widely over the edge of her cup. 

 

“Yeah.” Bill blew out a breath, set his empty mug down on the counter top closest to him. “I just hope we finish the nursery by the time y'all get back.” 

 

“I'll try to take the scenic routes to give you guys as much time as possible,” she said. “But I'm sure you'll be fine, especially with more than one set of hands.”

 

Bill nodded, giving Betsy a look to let her know Hillary was behind her and silence the conversation. 

 

“What are you guys talking about?” Hillary asked, pulling up a chair next to her friend. 

 

“Nothing important,” Betsy told her dismissively. “You ready to go?” 

 

“Yeah,” she half smiled. “I just need a minute. My feet hurt.” 

 

“Again?” Bill asked, gazing at her in concern.

 

“Still,” his wife corrected miserably. “They're swollen.” 

 

Bill took up post in a chair opposite her, pulling her feet into his lap and examining them. “Christ,” he whistled. “You weren't kidding.”

 

“I swear half of it has to do with the heat,” Hillary told him, and he nodded in response, making slow work of massaging her aching extremities. 

 

“Someone's spoiled,” Betsy joked, eyeing the gentleness of Bill's ministrations. 

 

“Always,” Hillary smiled, craning her neck to look at her. “You think that's spoiled, you should have been here the day he drove an hour just to get my favourite ice cream because I was craving it at two in the morning.” 

 

“You didn't?” Betsy raised a brow, casting a skeptical gaze toward Bill. 

 

“Happy wife, happy life,” he chuckled. 

 

“Have the two of you decided on names?” Betsy asked, changing the subject and glancing at the ever growing bulge not so well hidden under Hillary's shirt. 

 

“First names,” Hillary told her, nodding. She closed her eyes and stifled a moan when Bill touched on a particularly sensitive area of flesh. 

 

“I'm sorry,” he said apologetically. “Did I hurt you?” 

 

“No, no,” Hillary waved dismissively. “Feels nice. Do continue. Bill picked the girl name since that's what he thinks it is,” she continued, opening one eye for a millisecond to peer at her friend.

 

“You think it's a boy?” Betsy questioned her.

 

“One hundred percent.”

 

“What's the name you picked?” 

 

“Chelsea and I decided on it together,” Hillary said, smiling. “Blake.” 

 

“I love that,” Betsy said enthusiastically. 

 

“Me too. Bill wants to call her Tara if it's a girl.”

 

“That's so cute, too,” Betsy smiled. “I've no idea what I think it is.”

 

“Not even a wild guess?” Hillary raised a brow, eyes still lightly closed. 

 

“No. It doesn't matter either way. He or she is a piece of you, so I will love them immensely regardless.” 

 

“I don't doubt that.” Hillary fully opened her eyes, slowly lowered her feet from their position in her husband's lap. “Thanks, honey,” she told him softly in appreciation. “I've no doubt that he or she will adore you just as much,” she said, looking at Betsy. “Shall we go?”

 

“Absolutely,” Betsy nodded, raising from her chair. “Thank you Bill, for the coffee.” 

 

“Oh, you're most welcome,” Bill smiled. “Y'all have fun. Be as long as you need.”

 

“We will,” Betsy winked, holding the screen door for Hillary to walk out ahead of her once she'd made her way to it. “Bye, Chelsea!” she called to the toddler. 

 

“Love you!” Chelsea responded from the other side of the house, and Bill was surprised she didn't run out to see them off. 

 

“I wish you'd tell me what we're doing,” Hillary chided her friend on the way down the driveway to the car. “I had no idea what to wear.”

 

“You'll find out soon enough,” Bill heard Betsy say as they climbed into the vehicle simultaneously and drove away. He smiled to himself, becoming more and more excited to unveil his final surprise, beyond grateful that Hillary's own mother would be there to share it with her. 

 

“Chels?!” he called to his daughter. 

 

“Yes, Daddy?” she answered sweetly. 

 

“You'd better go pick out which dress you wanna wear for grandma.”

 

“Grandma's coming?!” Chelsea asked, incredulous, seemingly having forgotten.

 

“Yes she is,” Bill said, laughing. “And she'll be here very soon, so you'd better hurry up.”

 

“Okay!” she yelled, and Bill heard the shuffle of hurried little feet making their way down the hall to her bedroom. “Come, Daddy! Please?” 

 

“D'you need help?” Bill called.

 

“Yes,” Chelsea said, and he made his way to her bedroom. He was unsure how long it would take the toddler to finally pick a dress and get ready, but he knew she would look beautiful no matter what. No matter how pressed for time or exasperated he found himself, he wouldn't rush her. Moments like these with just the two of them were some of his absolute favourite.  

 


	6. Chapter 6

“Girl,” Hillary hummed in appreciation as she leaned back against the salon's soft leather chair, eyes closed and revelling in the sensation of the pedicurist's soft, expert hands kneading her feet. “This is magical. You've no idea how much I needed this day.”

 

Situated in a replica of the same chair right next to her friend, Betsy looked to the left and reached out a hand, blindly clasped Hillary's fingers and held them. “Oh, I do. Enjoy it, you deserve it.”

 

“You really didn't have to pay for everything,” Hillary told her softly. “Especially all those clothes. I can only imagine what the tab came to.”

 

“Well, you can keep imagining,” Betsy smiled, “'cause I'm not gonna tell ya. Don't worry about it, love. I can think of plenty of times you've returned the favour. I'm happy you picked out so much stuff. I know you needed it, and you looked beautiful in everything.”

 

Hillary smiled softly. “I'm sure Bill will be happy to have me stop complaining now that I have things that actually make me look pregnant instead of just fat.”

 

“Honey, he adores you no matter what you look like. Have you seen the way he looks at you? Turns me to mush and he's not even my husband,” Betsy laughed, finally releasing her friend's fingers and leaning into the back of her chair.

 

“I know he does,” she said, voice thick with emotion. “Sometimes I feel like knockin' him out, but he's been so good and patient this entire pregnancy, and he's amazing with Chelsea.”

 

“You done picked a good one, babe,” Betsy winked.

 

“Can I ask you something?” Hillary questioned after long moments of sitting in companionable silence whilst having their toes painted in matching colours.

 

Betsy raised a brow. “You never precede questions to me with a question unless it's serious,” she said, perplexed. “What's wrong?”

 

“It's nothing bad, I promise,” she laughed, fully opening her eyes. “I've been meaning to ask you if you would like to be this baby's godmother. I would have done it a long time ago, but it didn't feel right to do it over the phone.”

 

“Hill,” Betsy cooed, touched. “Really?”

 

“Of course,” Hillary told her as if she were the obvious choice. “I can't think of anybody else I'd rather leave this child with if something were to happen to me and Bill,” she smiled. “Will you do it?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“Good,” Hillary said happily. “And when he comes, I want you to be there.”

 

“Like, in the room with you?”

 

“Yes,” Hillary nodded.

 

“Oh, Hillary, I don't know...” she mused. “Are you sure? I mean, that's a pretty intimate thing. Wouldn't you rather just share it with Bill?”

 

“Don't be silly,” Hillary scoffed, waving dismissively before reaching for the plastic cup of iced lemonade she'd brought in with her and set on a side table. She took a long pull out of the straw before speaking again, screwing up her face when hit by the extreme tartness of the beverage. “I don't think our friendship could be much more intimate if we tried. You've been around a long time, and with the role I want you to play in this child's life, it's only fitting you're around for this, too.”

 

Betsy sighed, resigned to the truth of her friend's words. “All right,” she conceded, smiling brightly. “I'll try my hardest to be there.”

 

“Thank you,” Hillary answered happily.

 

“Okay ladies,” Betsy's pedicurist spoke up, Hillary's finishing at nearly the exact same moment and rising from her post in front of her. “You're all done.”

 

“Perfect, thank you so much,” Hillary smiled kindly. “You ready to go home?” she asked, glancing to the side.

 

Betsy glanced quickly at the watch on her wrist before locking eyes with her friend. “Not quite,” she answered, seeing it was still early and hoping her voice didn't show apprehension. “Are you too exhausted to catch a movie? It's not very late yet.”

 

Hillary looked quizzically to the woman opposite, brow shooting upward. Her mouth opened and closed several times, but she opted against asking questions. “We could,” she said after a moment. “I'd be sitting, so it wouldn't be that bad. But only if you let me pick up the tab this time.”

 

“You got it,” Betsy winked, flashing her a smile.

 

///

 

Chelsea stood in front of her bedroom mirror, clad in a black short sleeved dress that fell just over bony kneecaps, thin white tights and chunky heeled shiny black shoes. Bill didn't think he'd ever witnessed her looking so sweet and innocent and so grown up simultaneously.

 

“I'm _so_ pretty,” Chelsea intoned at her reflective self as she gazed appreciatively into the mirror.

 

The statement caught Bill off guard, and he found himself laughing until he was hunched over and breathless. “Yes you are,” he told her, eyes glistening when he finally walked close enough to stand paces behind his child. 

 

“Daddy, we still have to do my hair before Grandma comes,” Chelsea wailed. “It's all messy.” 

 

“It's okay,” he told her in soothing tones. “Daddy'll do it. How d'you want it?” 

 

“In a bun,” Chelsea answered decisively. 

 

“A tight one or a loose one?” 

 

“Loose,” she said. “Like Mummy does in the mornings.”

 

“Okay,” Bill told her, confident that he'd watched his wife's skilful hands enough times to be able to accurately replicate their actions. “Come sit on the bed and Daddy will get your hairbrush.”

 

The toddler obliged his request, situating herself on the edge of her thick mattress, hands poised in her lap as she waited patiently for Bill to finish removing excess hair that had collected in the prongs of the brush the last time Chelsea had had her hair done. Crawling across the bed to sit behind her, Bill crossed his legs beneath him once close enough. Long, elegant fingers gently gathered sections of strawberry blonde locks before carefully stroking the brush through from top to bottom.

 

“You're good at this, Daddy,” Chelsea told him, and he smiled happily, pleased with himself. 

 

“Yeah?” he said. “Better than Mum?”

 

“Yes,” Chelsea answered with emphasis, and Bill snorted involuntarily. “Mummy pulls a lot.”

 

“I know,” he said. “I can hear you screamin' when I'm getting ready for work.” 

 

Chelsea giggled. “Yeah, Mummy doesn't like when I scream, she gets mad.”

 

“You're pretty loud,” Bill laughed. “She don't want you wakin' the neighbours up.” He untwisted the elastic from the handle of his daughter's brush and looped it effortlessly through the hair he'd bunched together. “All done,” he told her once he'd put it through her hair a third time and situated the bun loosely to the top of her head. 

 

“Thank you, Daddy.” Chelsea said sweetly, scrambling off the bed to examine the finished product in the mirror.

 

“You're welcome, baby,” Bill told her. “You like it?”

 

“Yup!” She answered happily. “You did good.”

 

Bill smiled, hearing the crunch of gravel beneath tires in the distance. “I think Grandma's here.” 

 

///

“Grandma!” Chelsea shrieked as Dorothy made her way into the house, Hugh tailing closely behind her. 

 

“Chelsea!” she said back, equally enthusiastic, eyeing the child up and down. “You look cute today.”

 

“Thank you,” she answered. “This dress is my favourite.” 

 

“It  _is_ very pretty,” Hugh piped up from his position behind his wife. “Hey, son,” he said to Bill, sidling over to clap him on the shoulder. 

 

“Hugh,” Bill nodded. “How are ya?” 

 

“No complaints,” his father-in-law answered. “You?” 

 

“Oh, fine,” Bill said. “Busy as ever. Trying not to die in this heat.” 

 

“It's disgusting outside,” Dorothy said. “I don't know how you deal with it, to be honest. Not too bad in here, though.” 

 

Bill nodded. “Come in, take your shoes off, stay a while.” He smiled, waiting for them to move further into the kitchen and divest themselves of their footwear before leading them through to the nursery. 

 

“Grandma?” Chelsea asked, toddling along behind them. 

 

“Yes, sweetheart?” 

 

“Did you bring me presents?” 

 

“Chelsea!” Bill scolded, “you don't ask that. You don't need presents, it's not your birthday.” 

 

Dorothy laughed good naturedly, eyes sparkling, paying no mind to the admonition. “No,” she said. “But I brought stuff so we can make brownies later. The good kind,” she winked, “not the ones in the box.” 

 

“ _Yes!”_ Chelsea said. “Can I help?” 

 

“You sure can,” Dorothy told her. “But Grandma's gonna help Daddy with the nursery first or your little brother or sister isn't gonna have anywhere to sleep.”

 

“It's a brudder, Grandma,” Chelsea said with certainty, stopping in the nursery doorway as Dorothy scooted past her.

 

“It is?” she chuckled. “How d'you know that?” 

 

“Because,” Chelsea said in response. 

 

“There could be a little princess sleepin' in here soon,” Bill told her. 

 

“Uh, no, Daddy.” Chelsea put a plump little hand to the ridge of each hip. “ _I'm_ the princess.”

 

“I see the attitude has blossomed since we were last here,” Hugh said dryly, casting a gaze to his son-in-law. 

 

“Oh, you don't know the half of it,” Bill laughed. 

 

“The space is nice,” Dorothy mused, gazing round the nursery. “Are the windows new?” 

 

“Yes,” Bill nodded. “We put 'em in last week. The rest of the space looks like a tornado came through here, though.” 

 

Dorothy smiled affectionately at him. “We'll get it fixed up, don't worry. Three sets of hands should do the job in no time.”

 

“I hope so.”

 

“When's Hillary supposed to be back?” Hugh asked. 

 

“I'm not sure,” Bill said. “Betsy promised to keep her occupied a good while. They left just after eleven, so it should be a while yet.” 

 

“Is this the colour you're painting the walls?” Dorothy questioned, nudging an unopened can of paint with her big toe. 

 

“Yeah. We don't know the gender, so we just went with a soft yellow.”

 

“Oh, that'll be nice with the dark floors,” she mused.

 

“That's what I was thinking,” Bill smiled. “If you wanna dive in you can start painting while I make another attempt to get this wretched crib together.” 

 

“Have you not gotten that together yet?! Hugh chided him. “I told you how to put the pieces together over the phone last week.”

 

“I know you did, Hugh,” Bill said, trying to keep his voice even and hide exasperation whilst running a hand over his face. “And I tried. I just couldn't figure it out.” 

 

“Oh, it can't be that hard. I'll have it done in ten minutes if you give me the tools.”

 

“Hugh!” Dorothy admonished. “That's enough.”

 

Bill moved toward the door jamb. “I'm gonna go get something out of the shed,” he said. “I'll be right back.” 

 

“He means well, you know,” Dorothy said softly, patting him on the shoulder as he passed her on the way out.

 

“Oh, I know,” Bill said easily, more than aware of all the facets of his father in law's personality. 

 

///

 

“Grandma,” Chelsea asked from her position next to Dorothy in the kitchen. “Can I crack another egg in this bowl?”

 

Hugh was putting the final coat of paint over the walls of the nursery, hanging pictures and knick knacks, and Bill had come through the kitchen carrying a heavy looking object covered in a tarp, placing it in the baby's room against an already dry wall but not uncovering it. 

 

“Absolutely you can,” Dorothy smiled. “Just don't get any shell pieces in the mixture okay? Mummy's gonna eat these after when she gets home.”

 

Chelsea nodded her approval, chocolate still lingering at the corners of her mouth from the half of the first batch she and her grandmother had devoured between them. Dorothy watched intently, impressed at the steadiness of the toddler's hand as she tapped the outside of the egg to the side of the stainless steel bowl to crack it. 

 

“Good girl,” Dorothy told her as she watched the yolk and whites fall into the mix and inspected it for remnants of shell, unable to find any. “Have you done this before?” 

 

“Uh huh,” Chelsea boasted proudly. “Daddy showed me.” 

 

“What'd Daddy show ya?” Bill asked as he stepped back through the kitchen, stopping to pluck an already cooled brownie from the rack on the counter and stuff it into his mouth. 

 

“How to crack eggs!” Chelsea said. “I got no shells in there,” she told him, pointing to the bowl. 

 

“Awesome,” Bill said proudly once he'd swallowed. “I let you do that when we make pancakes from scratch on weekends, huh?”

 

“Then we bring them to Mummy in the bed when she wakes up!” 

 

“Yeah,” Bill laughed. “Maybe we'll have to do that tomorrow.” 

 

“Grandma, can I have another brownie?” Chelsea asked as she watched Dorothy stir the batter to the second batch and pour it in the pan. 

 

“No,” she said quickly. “You've already had four. Mum'll kill me if you get sick.”

 

“Four?!” Bill's eyes widened. “Christ. She'll be bouncin' off the walls til after midnight.” 

 

“Sorry,” Dorothy apologised. “I couldn't say no. Besides, it's technically my job to fill 'em with sugar and leave 'em to you,” she winked. 

 

“Don't worry about it,” Bill chuckled, eyes sparkling. 

 

“What's under the tarp?” his mother in law inquired, nodding toward the adjacent room. 

 

“You'll see,” Bill told her evasively. 

 

///

 

“Bets,” Hillary said, exasperated. “Why are you driving so slowly?”

 

“Hill,” Betsy countered in the same tone, not fazed in the least by her friend's disgruntled state. “Why are you being so cranky?” 

 

“Because,” she sighed, voice raising an octave, “I'm pregnant and I've told you like, six times how badly I have to  _pee.”_

 

“Well, don't have a rack attack,” Betsy chuckled, glancing to the side and catching Hillary's swollen breasts in her peripheral. “There's a gas station right up here. I have to stop anyway, I'm almost on empty.”

 

“ _Thank God.”_

 

They pulled up to the pump, Hillary swinging the passenger door open before Betsy had even fully come to a stop. 

 

“Jesus Christ, woman, be careful!” she called after her as Hillary briskly walked to the entrance. 

 

///

“This looks great,” Bill said, beyond pleased with the finished product as he scanned his future son or daughter's room. “Awesome job on the paint, y'all.” 

 

“Thank you,” Hugh said proudly as he carefully stepped down from the top rung of a ladder he'd put up so as to be able to hang a shadow box on an unreachable area of wall space. “Dorothy did most of it though. I was concentrated on getting that crib assembled. You were right,” he chuckled. “Took way more than ten minutes. Was god awful. Instructions didn't make any sense.” 

 

“What'd I tell ya?” Bill laughed, trying not to sound smug. 

 

“Don't make nothin' like they used to,” Hugh mused with a shake of his head as he stepped softly onto the floor and folded the ladder. “I'll take this back out to the shed.”

 

“Oh, no,” Bill offered quickly, taking it off his hands. “I've got it. You stay here. Hillary should be back any minute and I don't want her to see you.” 

 

He made his way out, careful not to knock the ladder against anything on the journey. While outside, he double checked the garage door was tightly shut so his wife wouldn't see her parents' car situated inside it on the way up the drive.

 

///

 

“We're home,” Betsy said softly as she turned the ignition off and came to a stop at the end of her friend's driveway. Hillary had moved her seat back so that she was nearly lying down and had room to stretch her legs. Blue eyes were closed, lashes resting lightly against bottom lids, but Betsy knew she wasn't even close to fully asleep.

 

“Finally,” Hillary mumbled, slowly opening her eyes and pulling the lever on the side of her seat forward to sit up. 

 

“I'm gonna carry your stuff in for you, babe,” Betsy told her, lightly brushing her arm to impede her undoing her seatbelt. “I'll be right back.” 

 

“Oh, Betsy,” she chided. “I can do it. I'm not helpless.” 

 

“I know you're not,” she responded. “Just relax. Let me help you. I'll be back in two seconds.” 

 

“All right,” Hillary relented. “Thank you.” 

 

///

“Where's Hillary?” Bill asked as Betsy came barrelling through the door with a handful of bags, setting them down in one corner of the nursery. She noticed Hillary's parents and warmly embraced each of them once her hands were free of the load. 

 

“In the car. I told her to stay there while I brought the stuff in. I don't think she suspects anything, but I wanted to give you guys some forewarning that we were back, in case you hadn't finished everything. I see that's not the case,” she murmured, impressed, as she eyed the finished room. “This is wonderful, Bill.” 

 

“Thank you,” he smiled affectionately. “I had a lot of help, though. And I couldn't have done it without you keeping her away from the house.” 

 

“Was no trouble,” Betsy assured, waving him off. “We had a fun day, too. I'm sure she'll tell you all about it.” 

 

“Me and Grandma made brownies,” Chelsea giggled from the corner, excess sugar evidently having sent her into a hyperactive fit. 

 

“You did?” Betsy laughed. “How many did you eat?” 

 

“A lot,” she answered.

 

“Yeah? Well Mum's waiting in the car,” Betsy told her. “What d'you think? Should I go get her and you and Daddy greet her at the door while Grandma and Grandpa hide in here?” 

 

“Uh huh!” Chelsea intoned, loose bun Bill had put in her hair earlier in the day bobbing up and down along with her head. 

 

“Okay, get ready, I'm going back outside right now.” 

 

///

“Hey, love,” Bill greeted tenderly as he touched down on his wife's lips and lingered there for a few long moments. Betsy pulled the door shut behind them again when she came in after her.

 

“Hi,” she said softly. “I missed you.”

 

“I missed you too,” he said, pulling her into his body to kiss her again before sidestepping to get behind her. “You want me to take your coat for ya?” He nodded toward the light jacket she had thrown over her arms to shield her from the slight chill that had descended over the evening, peeled it gently away from her skin without waiting for an answer. 

 

“Hi Mummy,” Chelsea said bashfully from her position at Hillary's legs. She giggled and batted her long eyelashes when her mother made eye contact.

 

“Hi my baby,” Hillary singsonged happily, crouching as far down as her changed torso would allow. “I missed you, did you have a good day with Daddy? Why d'you have chocolate all over your face?” Raising back up to full height, she cast a bewildered gaze at Bill. 

 

“Grandma gave me brownies!” Chelsea said, forgetting about the surprise until she saw her father's eyes widen. 

 

“Grandma...? Grandma was here?” Hillary asked, utterly confused. 

 

“Honey,” Bill piped up, desperately trying to think of a way to get the conversation off of Dorothy. “You know, I think I picked up the wrong colour paint the other day at the hardware store...” he trailed off as he made his way toward the baby's room. “Would you come here for a minute?” 

 

“Christ,” Hillary mumbled under her breath, sighing heavily in frustration. She kicked off her shoes and followed at Bill's heel.

 

“How hard is it to pick -” she started, stopping in her tracks as she roughly flicked on the light switch.

 

“Surprise,” Dorothy said softly, smiling.

 

“Mum?!” Hillary stood stock still, shell shocked and breathless, the unexpectedness of it all seeming to have knocked the wind out of her. “Daddy?!” she said when she noticed Hugh standing in the background. “What are you... I mean, how...” she stammered, words failing her.

 

“This one over here,” Dorothy said, stepping up to Bill and flinging an arm haphazardly round him, “called and asked us to come help him finish the nursery so you wouldn't be so stressed leading up to giving birth. We hadn't been down in a while, so naturally, we didn't hesitate.” 

 

_“Babe,”_ Hillary cooed, locking eyes with her husband and feeling tears pool in her own. “Thank you.”

 

“You're welcome,” he said softly, pursing his lips and kissing the empty air between them. 

 

“This is beautiful,” she breathed, gazing around herself, realisation finally dawning that their child had a room to come home to. “That's why you were stalling all day!” Hillary said with sparkling eyes, looking at Betsy.

 

“It is,” she nodded. “You still mad?” 

 

“Not even a little bit,” Hillary laughed. “What is this?” she asked softly, looking round the room at each face in turn as she stepped tentatively toward the tarp covered object, short fingers flitting across it.

 

“Uncover it and find out,” Bill told her, eyes dancing. 

 

Slowly, she did as instructed, breath hitching in her throat the moment her eyes were able to absorb it. “Bill,” she gasped. “Where did you get this?” 

 

“I made it,” he answered, moved beyond words as he saw tears start to trickle down his love's cheeks. 

 

“You're joking,” Hillary said, wiping at the droplets. 

 

“I'm not,” Bill laughed. “Took me forever. Started on it the day you told me you were pregnant and finished it yesterday.” 

 

A beautiful, deep seated wooden rocker was situated before her. The darkest of varnish coated its entirety, heart cut outs sprawled across the head rest. 

 

“Baby,” Hillary choked out, finally losing resolve and letting her emotions flow freely. “I love you.”

 

“Oh,” Bill whispered, stepping closer and enveloping his wife in an embrace. “Don't cry.” Lengthy fingers grazed her cheeks when he pulled back and held her at arms' length to look into her face. 

 

“I feel bad for being short with you, now,” she guffawed through her tears.

 

“You're forgiven,” Bill told her sincerely, touching his lips to her hair. “You wanna sit in the chair?” He nodded toward the rocker as Dorothy tossed the matching plush cushion down onto the seat.

 

Hillary made her way over, let the backs of her legs lightly touch to the smooth wood before sinking slowly down into it. “Oh,” she sighed, slowly rocking herself. “This is delightful. I may just stay here 'til this kid decides to come out.” 

 

“Mummy,” Chelsea said, running up to her holding the second tray of cooled brownies. “These are for you.”

 

“Ooh, they are?!” Hillary eyed them longingly, gingerly picking up the butter knife resting in the corner of the pan and cutting a square. “Thank you, honey.”

 

“You're welcome,” Chelsea giggled. “I made 'em with Grandma.”

 

“Well you did good,” Hillary told her, chewing the huge chunk she'd taken into her mouth. “They're delicious.” 

 

“You should have one more,” her daughter told her. “I think Blake will want one too.” 

 

Hillary nearly spat out her sugary mouthful before managing to swallow it as laughter overtook her. “I think you may be right,” she winked, once she'd gained control of herself. 

 

///

 

“Did you have fun today?” Bill asked softly when they were alone in their bedroom, her parents long gone, Betsy fast asleep across the hall and Chelsea out like a light in the room beside hers. 

 

“So much fun,” Hillary smiled, stepping out of her clothes and picking them up off the floor to fold them. 

 

“Good,” Bill said as he climbed beneath the covers, pulling them up over himself. “What'd you guys do?” 

 

“Betsy basically bought me a whole wardrobe of maternity clothes,” she laughed softly. “We had lunch and mani-pedis and caught a movie.” 

 

“Sounds like a good time. Show me the clothes tomorrow?” He rolled toward her, brushed a stray wisp of hair off her forehead before moving in for a searing, passionate kiss. 

 

“Of course I will,” Hillary told him. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.” 

 

“Shh, baby,” Bill hushed her. “Sleep. You look exhausted. I'll see you in the morning.” 

 

Hillary lay propped on an elbow several minutes after her husband had turned away from her. 

 

“Billy?” she said into the darkness, pupils adjusting to the pitch black.

 

“Mmhmm?” 

 

She turned to the opposite side, touched down on a broad shoulder and peered downward at him. By the way his bottom half shifted, she knew he could feel the heat of her naked limbs close to his. “Make love to me.” 

 

It was not a question nor a plea, but a demand. She smiled to herself, hearing his slow, ragged intake of breath. 

 

“Are you sure you're up to it?” Turning all the way over to face her, he let his gaze burn into her face, the only light in a surrounding sea of dark. Skillful fingers traveled over the exposed flesh of her top half, eliciting soft whimpers.

 

“I've never been more sure of anything,” Hillary told him, letting her mind go blank as two souls became one.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teensy bit of drama in this chapter to balance out all the tooth rotting fluff. 
> 
> It gets better, I promise. ;)

“Noo Mummy! You're pulling!” Chelsea screamed frantically from her position on the couch. Behind her, Hillary let out an exasperated sigh.

 

“I know, Chels, I'm sorry, but you have huge knots in the back of your hair. I don't know what kind of positions you sleep in, but they do a number on you. I have to pull a little bit if I'm gonna get them to come out.”

 

“NO!!” The toddler's shrieks were drawn out, long and loud as tears cascaded freely down reddened face. Hillary tossed the brush down onto the sofa cushion.

 

“Chelsea that is _enough_ ,” her mother said sternly, trying to turn her child to face her but getting scratched and knocked by little arms in the process. She noted how strong and defiant her child was when she really wanted to be.

 

Bill descended the stairs, straightening his tie as he went. Hearing the commotion, he took the steps two at a time and situated himself in the middle of the catastrophe awaiting at the bottom.

 

“What's going on down here?” he asked into open space, casting an unimpressed gaze to his daughter before meeting his wife's tired, pleading blues.

 

“I cannot do this today,” Hillary told him, sighing. “She will not listen. I don't know what it is, but she's being awful. I don't have the energy for it.” Coaxing Chelsea gently onto the cushion next to herself, Hillary slowly rose and made her way over to her husband. Pulling her into his arms, he allowed his lips to hover close to her ear, heat of his breath flitting across the lobe.

 

“Do you want me to stay home?” Bill asked, voice low.

 

Hillary looked upward, half smile tugging at the right side of her mouth just enough so that several teeth were exposed. “I can't ask you to do that,” she told him, voice equally soft as she stared directly into his face. “Tempting though the offer may be.”

 

“Are you sure? 'Cause I will. My family comes first.” Long, nimble fingers inched their way betwixt two bodies and found themselves spread across the sphere of his wife's pregnant stomach, eyes lighting up when he felt a brush of movement against his hand.

 

“You're so busy...” Hillary trailed off, knowing it was the truth but losing resolve and desperately wishing she were selfish enough to take him up on the offer.

 

“Doesn't matter how busy I am,” Bill told her. “I'm never too busy for my babies.”

 

He extended a wink and she smiled lightly back, sighing heavily. She was determined not to be what kept him away from the duties which called. “I can't ask that of you,” she repeated, pulling back a few paces, knowing the intoxicating scent of him freshly washed and shaven would do her in. “Talk to Chelsea before you leave, though?”

 

“Absolutely.” Reluctantly removing his hand from the swell of Hillary's stomach, he pulled away from her and their hyperactive unborn offspring before walking the few paces across to the couch where a disgruntled Chelsea still sat. Sourest of looks playing across her features, she bounced the back of her hairbrush over a bony kneecap repeatedly so it made a thumping sound.

 

“Stop,” Bill told her, kneeling in front of the sofa and stilling the motion with an oversized hand. “Daddy needs to talk to you.”

 

“Why?” Chelsea questioned, tiny brow inching upward in a gesture of skepticism.

 

“Well,” Bill's voice was patient as he removed the brush completely from his child's grasp, wanting to keep her attention. It was set atop the coffee table directly behind him in one swift motion. “Why do you think?”

 

“'Cause I was bad?” Chelsea questioned softly, shame etched across her face as she looked into her father's. She hung her head slightly when the look mirrored back was too much to handle.

 

“Can you tell Daddy why you were bad?” Bill asked her, placing index and middle fingers under her chin and gently tilting it toward him, forcing her to look at him again.

 

“I was mean to Mummy 'cause she pulled my hair,” Chelsea told him. “But it _hurts_.” 

 

“I know it does,” he told her, blue eyes softening for her pain. “Tell me how you were mean to Mummy.”

 

“I screamed,” Chelsea said.

 

“And..?” 

 

“She said stop,” Chelsea continued, “but I didn't listen. I hit her, and my fingers scratched her a little.”

 

“What does Daddy always say about hitting people, Chelsea?” 

 

“That it's not allowed.” She hung her head again. 

 

“Right,” Bill said, nodding. “You can't hit Mum just because she does something you don't like. We're your parents, and when we say to do something, you need to do it. Mummy wasn't trying to hurt you, but she needs to do your hair. If she doesn't get all the knots out they'll get bigger and hurt more the next time.”

 

“I know, Daddy,” Chelsea said regrettably, tears pooling in her eyes.

 

Bill rested his hand on her leg. “Mum's really tired lately, sometimes she doesn't feel very well. She needs us to be extra patient and help her out.”

 

“'Cause she's havin' a baby?” Chelsea asked, eyes brightening.

 

“That's right,” Bill nodded, removing his hand from his daughter's knee and slowly raising to stand. “I'm sure it hurts her feelings when you're not nice to her. Go say sorry, and she'll decide whether she thinks you should have time out or not, okay? Daddy has to go to work, but can you promise me you'll be good for her and Betsy the rest of the day?” 

 

“Yes,” she said softly. “I promise.”

 

“That's my girl,” he said affectionately as she stood after him, making her way over to Hillary who had silently watched the interaction unfold, feelings of deep respect she held for her husband resurfacing.

 

“I'm sorry Mummy,” Chelsea wailed, looking up at her mother and clinging to her legs for dear life.

 

“Uh huh,” Hillary said, peering down at her tiny form. “What are you sorry for?” 

 

“'Cause I was mean,” she answered. “I'm sorry.”

 

“Thank you for apologising,” her mother said sincerely. “Do you think you deserve a time out to think about what you did?” 

 

“Um,” Chelsea said, indecisive. 

 

“Mummy does,” Hillary said sternly when the child let empty silence suffice as an answer. “Are you gonna listen to Daddy and be good for me and Betsy the rest of the day? 'Cause I'll call him home if I have to and he won't be very pleased.”

 

“Yes Mummy,” Chelsea nodded emphatically. “I'll be good.”

 

“Okay,” Hillary nodded, touching a palm tenderly to the top of the toddler's head to let her know she wouldn't stay angry. “Go sit in your princess chair.” She pointed to the pink wooden chair with a portrait of Cinderella etched into the back sitting askew in a far corner. “Three minutes. No moving, no playing, no talking. Mummy will time it and let you know when you can get up.”

 

Chelsea did as instructed, folding her arms in an unimpressed fashion once tiny bottom connected with painted wood, but not making a sound. 

 

“Thank you for helping with that,” Hillary hummed appreciatively as Bill made his way back to her, touching down on her lips.

 

“You're most welcome, baby,” he whispered, pulling back. “You sure you're okay here?” His long fingers clasped and toyed briefly with her shorter ones. 

 

“Yes,” Hillary told him. “Betsy's here, we'll be fine. Go.” She shooed him away with twinkling eyes. “You'll be late.” 

 

“All right.” Bill moved reluctantly, but as per his wife's wishes, made his way to the door to put on his shoes and get to work. “I'm goin',” he called over his shoulder. “I'll see you later.”

 

“Here, Bill,” Betsy said absent mindedly from her position in front of the stove once he'd made his way into the kitchen and was sliding into his shoes. She stood in front of the appliance agitating a pan of soft, cheesy eggs with a spatula, her free hand extending to him peanut butter and toast she'd slid into a sandwich bag and a metal travel mug of fixed coffee. “For your travels. Figured you wouldn't have time to sit down this morning.”

 

“You're an absolute jewel,” Bill drawled with a wink, retrieving her offerings. “Hill should think about keepin' you around here permanently.” 

 

“You're welcome,” Betsy called after him, cackling as he kissed the air between them when he turned around to shut the door behind himself. 

 

///

 

“I can hardly watch you eat that,” Betsy cringed from her spot next to Hillary at the table as her friend squirted globs of hot sauce onto her plate of eggs and spread it over them with a knife. “Do you not get heartburn?”

 

“No,” Hillary said thickly, shaking her head as she swallowed a mouthful. “I crave hot foods even more since I've gotten pregnant.”

 

“That's saying something,” Betsy whistled. “Considering how much you loved them before.” 

 

“Mum, can I have more milk?” Chelsea asked from her position across the table. “Please?” 

 

“Sure.” Hillary wiped her mouth with a napkin, pushing her chair out and making to stand up. 

 

“I'll get it,” Betsy said softly, setting fork against plate with a soft clink and holding up a hand to stop her friend's motions.

 

“Thank you,” Hillary said, smiling and sitting down again.

 

“Do you want chocolate in your milk?” Betsy asked the toddler as she bent next to the fridge, head tucked inside.

 

“Yeah!” Chelsea exclaimed loudly before her face became crestfallen and she looked toward her mother in apprehension, not wanting to find herself in anymore hot water for the day. “Can I Mummy?” she asked sweetly. “Please?”

 

Hillary's eyes sparkled and her mouth moved into a lopsided grin. She often missed her own days of childhood innocence, and smiled when she thought of the unborn foetus inside of her growing up and also becoming visibly animated over something as simple as being permitted the treat of chocolate milk. “You can,” she nodded toward her daughter.

 

“Here you go, baby,” Betsy murmured, setting the glass of liquid down in front of her and popping open the cap of the sugary syrup she held in her hand. “I'm gonna squirt some in, you tell me when to stop, okay?”

 

“Oh Lord,” Hillary said dryly.  


“'kay,” Chelsea giggled in anticipation. “Go!”

 

Betsy tipped the top of the chocolate toward the glass and squeezed, letting it slowly drip into the milk and turn it brown. 

 

“When!” Chelsea shrieked after a few long minutes, laughing wildly, and Betsy stopped squeezing, positive there was more chocolate than liquid. 

 

“Wow,” she said. “That's a lot of chocolate.” She handed her a spoon. “Stir before you take a sip.”

 

Chelsea grasped the metal piece of cutlery in plump little fingers, circulating it around the bottom of the cup several times before taking a long pull from the top edge. “Yummy,” she said, satisfied, leaving a chocolate ring round her mouth in the aftermath for Betsy to wipe away. 

///

 

“Ewwww, a worm!” Chelsea was situated under a tree with Betsy, who kept watch on her while Hillary tended the flowerbeds at the opposite side of the yard. The toddler was covered in dirt waist down, mud caked underneath little fingernails from digging. An earthworm from the cluster she had uncovered was inching across her palm. 

 

“Yuck,” Betsy said emphatically. 

 

“He feels weird,” she laughed. “Like goo.”

 

“Yeah they're slimy, huh?” Betsy smiled.

 

“Uh huh,” Chelsea nodded. “How come they don't crawl on top of the ground?” she asked, peering at her inquisitively. 

 

“Sometimes they do,” Betsy told her. “But they like the moisture underneath.”

 

“Moisture is where it's wet, right?” Chelsea said, and Betsy marvelled at her intelligence. 

 

“Exactly. How'd you get to be so smart?”

 

“'Cause Mummy and Daddy teach me stuff,” she retorted, laughing, and Betsy chuckled heavily.

 

“I'll bet they do,” she said. “If you put the worm back down and go wash your hands and get some elastics I can braid your hair for you like you wanted.”

 

“Right now?” Chelsea asked, eyes alight.

 

“Yep,” Betsy nodded. “But you gotta go get your elastics and wash your hands first.”

 

“Okay,” Chelsea said easily, gently placing the worm back down in the dirt with the rest and re-covering it before rising to her feet. 

 

“Betsy?” she questioned before making her way toward the house.

 

“Yes, love?” 

 

“Can you stay with us forever?”

 

The older woman felt her heart turn over in her chest and a lump swell in her throat. “No baby, not forever. For a while yet, though. Til the weekend.”

 

“But I'm gonna miss you when you leave,” Chelsea wailed. 

 

“I know baby, I'll miss you, too. But I have to go home to go back to my job. I'll be back before your little brother or sister comes, though, swear.” 

 

“It's a brother,” Chelsea corrected firmly. “His name is Blake.”

 

“Right,” Betsy cackled. “Sorry. Go on and get your hands washed up and find me those elastics,” she said after a minute. “I wanna do that long pretty hair of yours.” 

 

 

///

 

Tiny feet rustled in the long grass as Chelsea made the trek up to the house, Betsy off in the distance. The sound of loud whimpers caught her attention and she stopped cold, turning to the left and following them. 

 

“Mummy?!” she shrieked as she came face to face with her mother lying on the ground adjacent the flowerbeds at the side of the house. “Mummy! What's wrong?”

 

The toddler sprinted closer, kneeling down next to her as she touched a hand to the outside of her mother's thigh and tried not to cry.

 

“Mummy's okay honey,” Hillary told her, trying to hide her agony by breathing slowly through her mouth and wiping hastily at the silent tears rolling down her face. “She just fell down and hurt her foot a little bit. I need you to be a really big, brave girl and not cry and run and get Betsy from the other side of the yard, okay? Can you do that for me? Don't cry though because I don't want her to panic.”

 

“Okay Mummy,” Chelsea said shakily, wiping at a few of her own lone tears. “I can do it.”

 

“That's a girl,” she said soothingly. “Run fast.” 

 

///

 

“Betsy!” Chelsea yelled, still several feet away from her mother's friend and running frantically closer. 

 

“What, baby?” Betsy asked, confused. “Why are your hands still -” 

 

“Mummy's hurt, she needs you!” she said, cutting off the woman's train of thought before she could finish. “She's on the ground crying.”

 

“Where?” Betsy asked forcefully, panicked. “Show me.” 

 

The toddler turned and ran ahead of her, she making a point to stay mere paces behind.

 

///

 

“Hillary,” Betsy cooed as she crouched next to her friend's form, Chelsea watching a few feet behind her. “What happened?”

 

“Well,” Hillary said, teeth clenched from the pain and her effort not to show its extent in front of her child. “I went to get up from digging in the flower beds to pee and once I started walking to make my way to the front of the house I stepped in a rut and just kind of landed badly. Twisted my foot. I think I may have broken something.” 

 

“Ooh,” Betsy said, screwing up her face. “Why didn't you yell?” 

 

“I did,” Hillary told her. “Y'all were a good distance away. Chelsea came and got you not too long after it happened.”

 

“Yeah, she was good to come that quick, such a smart girl,” Betsy said proudly, glancing over her shoulder and taking the child's mind off her mother's predicament for a brief moment. “I'm gonna touch your foot, okay?” she told Hillary. “Just wanna see if I can feel anything. Tell me where it hurts.”

 

“Okay.” Hillary inhaled, closing her eyes to prepare herself. “ _FUCK!”_ she screamed loudly when her friend's hands reached the area round her ankle, fresh tears streaming down. 

 

“I'm sorry,” Betsy cooed. “I know. I'm sorry. Shhh. Don't repeat that, honey,” she said to Chelsea over her shoulder, referring to the expletive. 

 

“I know,” Chelsea said. “Daddy says it so much Mummy started making him put money in a jar every time.”

 

Hillary's agony was momentarily forgotten as she failed to bite back a laugh. “You should count how much is in there sometime,” she said, and Chelsea smiled. 

 

Betsy rose to stand, dusting dirt off her knees. “Honey,” she said to Chelsea, placing a hand gently on the child's shoulder, “can you sit with Mummy while I go in the house and call your father?” 

 

“Oh, don't do that,” Hillary said. 

 

“Hill,” Betsy told her sternly. “I am most certainly doing that. He would want to know, would likely shoot me if I didn't tell him.” 

 

Hillary lay silent, continuing slow breaths through the mouth, and her friend took this as a concession. “Chelsea honey, sit with your mother, okay? Hold her hand and make her feel better, I'll be right back.”

 

Betsy quickly made her way through the front door and Chelsea squatted down close to Hillary, finding her hand and fusing their digits. 

 

“It's okay Mummy, don't cry, I'm right here,” she said, brushing wisps of hair away from her mother's forehead with a free hand, leaving dirt stains behind. 

 

“I know baby,” Hillary breathed, trying desperately to stay calm. “I'm okay.” She squeezed the toddler's hand as reassurance and for her own comfort.

 

“Is Blakey okay?” Chelsea asked worriedly of the foetus, pointing toward her mother's abdomen. 

 

“He's fine,” Hillary smiled tightly, using a free hand to caress her bump. She didn't want to scare her child, but felt her own apprehension bubbling to the surface over the question, tried to think back to when she'd last felt movement.

 

“Are you sure?” she asked again, eyes widening.

 

“Yes baby,” Hillary cooed. “Baby's fine. He'll be fine.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to note, I did the ultrasound scene the way I did because this AU is set early to mid eighties, and technology - especially when it comes to medicine - has improved greatly since those days. I always try to research to the best of my ability whether that be on the Internet or by way of questioning those I know in a specific field. Obviously, despite my best efforts, I am a fiction writer and not a doctor.
> 
> Please excuse any errors you may find and be kind and constructive in your criticisms. I hope y'all enjoy this chapter. I appreciate all the kudos and lovely comments. This has been one of my favourite stories to write, hence the installments coming relatively quickly. 
> 
> ;) x x

“Oh my god,” Bill said as he slammed the car door and ran from the vehicle, taking in his wife's crumpled form in the grass as he got closer. “Are you okay?” Chelsea released her mother's hand and scooted to the side to give him room to take over. Interlacing their fingers, he squeezed her palm with one hand, running a free one across her cheek as he stared down into soft, pained blue orbs.

 

“Yeah,” Hillary answered, voice several octaves too high to be believable. “Yeah, I'm fine. Chelsea was with me and she ran and got Betsy super quickly. I haven't been laying here too long.”

 

“Good girl,” Bill said, pleased, craning his neck to lock eyes with his child. “I'm proud of you for being such a good girl and helping your Mum.”

 

Chelsea smiled shyly. “She always helps me when I get hurt,” she said.

 

“Do you think you can stand at all if I help you?” Bill asked softly as he peered down at his wife, heart dropping to his stomach as he watched Hillary screw her eyes shut at the thought and a fresh batch of tears start to flow out from beneath bottom lids.

 

“I don't know,” she murmured. “It hurts _so_ bad. I'm trying to downplay it in front of Chelsea.” Porcelain chin jutted outward in the direction of their child, and Bill nodded in understanding.

 

“Okay,” he exhaled slowly. “Put your arms around me, baby, I've got you. I'm gonna pick you up and take you to the car.”

 

“Bill,” Hillary gasped, horrified. “You can't carry me, the weight I am now. You'll destroy your back!”

 

“Honey,” Bill drawled. “Right now I don't give a tinker's damn about my back, I care about you and how you're laying in agony on the ground. I'm gonna have to pick you up if there is any hope of getting to the hospital and bringing you some relief,” he paused, gaze burning into her to make known he was not saying what he was out of exasperation or anger, rather love and concern. “Now hold on tight to me, and I'll lift you.”

 

“Okay,” she relented, slowly raising herself upward enough to lock her arms together around his neck.

 

“We can take my car,” Betsy piped up. “More room in the back for you two to sit together. I'll drive.”

 

Bill nodded. “Mrs. Jameson is home,” he said. “I saw her pull up on my way in. If you run next door I'm sure she'll watch Chelsea.”

 

“Absolutely,” Betsy told him, reaching out and clasping Chelsea's hand to walk with her to the neighbour's. “Anything else you need?”

 

“Hill's foot is pretty swollen,” Bill mused, looking down at the extremity as it hung limply, now standing with his wife lying in his arms. “Run into the house and grab a couple of thick kitchen towels and an ice pack from the freezer and I'll put a compress on it while I'm with her in the back seat.”

 

Betsy nodded in affirmation. “I'll run Chelsea over to Ruth's and come back and get it, give you the time to get her situated.”

 

“You're a doll,” he winked.

 

She smiled. “Come on baby, let's go see if Mrs. Jameson can spend some time with you while we help Mummy, yeah?”

 

“Okay,” Chelsea said cooperatively as they walked several strides away from her parents. “But can you go in my room and get my favourite blankie before you go to the doctor? I want her to have it so it helps her not be scared like it helps me in the dark.”

 

Betsy turned her face to the side, gaze softening. “You're so sweet,” she cooed. “Of course I will give it to her. The cheetah print one on the end of your bed, right?”

 

“Yeah. And kiss her and Blakey lots 'cause I won't be there to do it.”

 

Betsy chuckled. “I will do.”

 

///

 

“Alright, hold tight to me darlin', I gotta open the door.”

 

Hillary tightened her grip around Bill's neck and he clung protectively to her torso with his right hand, pulling her against his body as he freed the opposite palm. Lengthy fingers swiftly and expertly pulled open the car door before returning to rest under his wife's lower half.

 

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, looking directly into her face.

 

“Mmm-hmm,” she mumbled through clenched teeth, nostrils flaring as she breathed.

 

“Okay,” Bill told her. “I'm gonna slide you into the back seat very slowly. Lie back, don't sit all the way up. Once I get in next to you, I'll pull you back into my lap and Betsy is gonna give me a compress for your foot to help the swelling before we leave. Like I said, I'm gonna go slowly, so just yell at me if you need me to stop, 'kay?”

 

“Yeah,” Hillary said, losing patience. “Just do it so I don't have to think about it.”

 

“All right,” Bill drawled, stepping closer to the car. “Watch your head, love.”

 

Hillary ducked away from the side of the car as Bill bent at the knees in effort to tuck her carefully inside the back, grunting lightly from the exertion. He saw her bottom touch the seat and watched her attempting to shuffle to the far side to afford him room to climb in beside.

 

“Fucking hurts to move,” she said bitterly, grinding her teeth as Bill ducked his head and got inside, leaving the door ajar for Betsy once she came back.

 

“I know baby, I'm sorry,” Bill apologised quietly. “Come here.” He aided her in the struggle of situating herself semi comfortably back into his lap, sliding sideways a bit so her legs had room enough to stretch out over his without touching the door when it shut. She situated her face into the crook of his neck, calming considerably at the inhalation of his familiar scent.

 

“I'm scared, Bill,” Hillary told him shakily after long, slow minutes of silence, voice muffled against his skin.

 

“You'll be all right, honey,” he assured. “Doctors know what they're doing.”

 

She shook her head wordlessly, and he felt the motion against himself. “Not for me,” she sniffled. “The baby. I haven't felt any movement since this morning.”

 

“When this morning?” Bill asked, slightly panicked, pulling back to look at his wife.

 

“Just after you left for work,” Hillary told him. Chelsea and Betsy and I were sitting at the dining table eating breakfast, and he kicked at my hand while I was eating like he always does when I have hot sauce on my eggs.”

 

Bill smiled. “I don't blame her,” he scoffed, eyes twinkling when he noted the look on Hillary's face over the change in pronoun. “I'd kick ya if you fed me that shit, too.”

 

“Bill,” she swatted him half heartedly on the arm, gazing into his eyes. “I'm serious. What if something happened? It's all on me. If I hadn't been out there so insistent on fixing up those damned flowerbeds, I-”

 

“Hillary,” he rasped, cupping her face. “She's gonna be fine. Everything will be fine. You're working yourself up and that's not gonna help her or your foot. Relax. She could just be sleeping.”

 

“But you don't know how badly I wanted this baby,” she said. “I just -”

 

“Woah,” Bill stopped her, holding a hand up, palm out. “Of course I do. Do you not remember how much of a failure I felt every time I had to watch you cry over a negative pregnancy test? How much less of a man I thought I was because I figured it just _had_ to be my fault, something I was doing wrong? I promise you, Hillary, nobody wants this child more than me. It upsets me that you would even _imply_ anything to the contrary.”

 

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, blue eyes glazing over and shining like glass. “I didn't mean it like that.”

 

“It's okay,” Bill conceded, running a hand in slow, soothing circles over her back. “Just relax. Breathe. I'm right here with you.”

 

“Hey,” Betsy said, poking her head in through the door Bill had left open, piercing the moment and making them both jump a touch. “Chelsea's all settled with Ruth. Happy as a pig in shit. They're over there baking chocolate coconut clusters,” she smiled.

 

“Here's the compress you wanted.” She handed Bill an ice pack double wrapped in hand towels. “Chelsea wanted you to have this, too,” she told Hillary, gently tossing her daughter's cheetah print blanket over her. “So you don't get scared.”

 

“See?” Bill said, flashing a toothy smile and spreading the throw more evenly over his wife. “Even Chelsea thinks you shouldn't worry.”

 

Betsy patted Hillary's non-aching limb in a gesture of affection and shut the door tightly before walking around to the driver's seat.

 

///

 

“My wife's in her second trimester,” Bill said seriously, long fingers sprawled out over the reception desk at the intake of Emergency. “She fell and twisted her foot, thinks she may have broken it.”

 

“Okay,” the receptionist said brightly, flashing a smile. “We'll have a doctor with her in a minute. Do you have insurance?”

 

“Absolutely,” he told her, fishing in his wallet for the appropriate proof.

 

“Tell them about the baby,” Hillary hissed through the side of her mouth, gazing up at Bill from her position situated in a provided wheelchair.

 

“Also,” Bill spoke up, catching the attention of the woman on the opposing side of the Plexiglass afresh and nodding so as to make his wife aware he had heard her. “She hasn't felt any movement since this morning before the fall and is more concerned for our baby than herself. Is it possible for us to check that out and make sure everything is okay?”

 

“Of course,” she said. “We can do that first if she wants to put up with the pain in her foot for just a touch longer. Have a seat and an on call doctor will see you in a couple of minutes.”

 

“Thank you,” Bill said kindly, pushing Hillary's wheelchair and following Betsy to a bank of chairs to sit down.

 

///

 

“Hillary?” A tall, lanky, dark skinned doctor with an Australian accent and a tag round her neck flashing the title of OBGYN popped her head around the corner into the waiting area. “I can see you now.”

 

Betsy and Bill stood up simultaneously, Bill gripping the handlebars of his wife's wheelchair and pushing her ahead of him. “Where to?” he asked the physician standing in wait for them.

 

“Just there,” she said, pointing to a little nondescript and private room down the hallway. “Follow me.”

 

Bill and Betsy walked in line formation behind her, her heels click-clacking against the hard flooring. He caught the name on her tag as it danced in his peripheral.

 

_Dr. Molly Shannon, OB-GYN_

 

“Okay,” Molly said cheerily, waiting for the three to make their way into the space and shutting the door behind them after tossing a manilla folder she'd carried with her onto the desk. “So what seems to be the problem?” she asked kindly, sitting in a plush swivel chair in front of Hillary. Betsy and Bill sat close to her, off to the side.

 

“Well,” Hillary started, half smiling. There was something about Molly she instantly liked. “I fell this afternoon and twisted my foot quite badly. Feels like I may have broken something, so I came in to get checked, but I've not felt my baby moving since this morning before the tumble so that had me worried a little bit.”

 

“Sure,” Dr. Shannon nodded in understanding. “What were you doing when you fell?”

 

“Tending my flowers,” Hillary said dryly, rolling her eyes at herself. “I had to pee, so I got up and when I started to walk across the yard to go inside, I stepped in a kind of pothole in the grass and landed badly.”

 

“Oh,” Molly breathed, expression sympathetic. “That's no fun.” She plucked rubber gloves from a cardboard box open on the desk next to her and pulled them on with a snap. “Have you been given an ultrasound during this pregnancy at all?”

 

“One,” Hillary nodded. “But it was very early. Like, baby was still a seedling. All they could see was that I was indeed pregnant.”

 

Molly nodded. “They're just starting to offer them more readily in some places. Sometimes they'll not do more than a couple if there are no exceptional circumstances,” she said. “But this is one of those. So I'll give you a minute and let your husband give you a hand up onto the examination table while I bring the machine in here.”

 

“Okay,” Hillary approved.

 

“There's a little crank at the end of the bed there,” she instructed Bill, pointing to the lever. “You can turn it if you need it lowered.”

 

 

///

 

“I'm gonna put some gel onto your abdomen and then put the wand to it,” Molly explained to Hillary, who lay with the swell of her stomach exposed, clutching Bill's hand as he stood next to her. Betsy sat askew in the corner, holding in a breath. “Might be a bit cold, I'm sorry.”

 

She squirted the liquid onto the desired area, used the wand's tip to spread it around. Hillary gasped lightly at the chill sensation, but acclimated quickly. “Okay, I'm gonna flick a couple of buttons and if everything is good we should hear a heartbeat after a few seconds and you'll see an image of your baby on the monitor.”

 

Hillary nodded in the lowered light, holding her breath as her shiny blues caught Bill's in her peripheral. Heart thudded unwanted bass in her eardrums as they were met by long, slow minutes of silence.

 

Dr. Shannon's eyes flitted across the abyss of grey on the monitor before her, expression unreadable. Setting down the wand, she carefully rose from her chair.

 

“I'm sorry guys, just give me two seconds here, your baby seems to be being stubborn. I'm gonna try to change her positioning just a touch.”

 

Bill smiled widely at the doctor's usage of the female gender pronoun, even knowing full well the images probably weren't clear enough to determine it for certain, and Hillary clutched his hand tighter. Molly positioned a glove clad hand on either side of Hillary's abdomen, pushing and squeezing and prodding expertly in attempt to move the baby where she needed.

 

“Ow,” Hillary grimaced, and Dr. Shannon locked eyes with her. “I know,” she said. “It's not pleasant, I'm sorry. I'm almost done.”

 

“Let's try this again,” Molly said with a smile, trying to ease the parents' minds. Repositioning herself in the chair, she picked up the wand and began rolling it over areas she'd previously touched.

 

 

A loud, steady _whoosh_ suddenly filled the room, and she smiled, relieved not to have to be the bearer of devastating news. “There she is,” she said. “Everything sounds great.”

 

Silent tears poured down Hillary's face, happiness becoming an antidote for her throbbing foot. Betsy let out the breath she had been holding, and stood to move closer to the monitor.

 

“Can we see him?” she asked the doctor.

 

“Absolutely,” Molly said, turning the monitor a hair. “Images aren't great, but you can make out some shapes and features. Like there,” she told them, tracing with her pinky finger. “Those are the eyes, cheeks, nose, and the outline of the mouth. Those little blobs here,” she pointed further down, “are her fingers.”

 

“That's amazing,” Bill said incredulously.

 

“Your baby,” Hillary said, casting a gaze to him, laughing happily as she felt a thumb catch and dry a tear drop midway down her face.

 

“ _Our_ baby,” Bill corrected. “She's perfect.”

 

“You can't tell the gender?” Betsy asked Dr. Shannon

 

“Sometimes,” Molly told her. “Usually it's pretty unclear yet. I couldn't tell very well on yours. Hopefully in the next few decades technology will advance enough that these things should become commonplace.” She smiled. “Are we at odds over what we think the gender will be?”

 

“Daughter and I think it's a boy,” Hillary chuckled. “Daddy and God Mama over here want a little girl.”

 

“Ah,” Molly laughed, eyes twinkling. “Do we have names?”

 

“Blake Weston for a boy,” Bill spoke up. “Tara Lindsay for a girl.”

 

“Those are beautiful,” Dr. Shannon cooed, smiling kindly as she flicked the machine off and turned on the lights. A towellette was extended in Hillary's direction so she could mop the globs of gel off her abdomen. “Congratulations, I'm glad I got to deliver happy news today. I'll take you guys upstairs so someone can finally look at that foot for you,” Molly winked.

 

///

“So although it may be unbearable and feel like it,” Dr. Erickson said, examining the images generated from further scans. “Nothing appears to be broken. Just a very severe sprain.”

 

Hillary exhaled loudly. “So what does this mean?”

 

He smiled. “I'll put you in a walking boot. You can walk with the boot on, it'll absorb the shocks and help your foot healing. But you're not to be weight bearing on your actual foot for at least four to six weeks.

 

“If you really can't sleep at night wearing it you can remove it, but I wouldn't recommend it for a while. After a couple of weeks you should be able to bathe with it off as well if you sit in the shower. An old folding chair of some kind tends to work well for that if you need it.”

 

“Do we come back to follow up?” Bill questioned

 

“Absolutely,” he said. “Four weeks is typically when we like to see how things are healing, but if you've any questions or concerns beforehand you can always call your family physician or come back in. We're here to answer any questions over the phone as well.”

 

“Thank you,” Hillary smiled. “Is there anything I can take for pain relief or no?”

 

“There's not a whole lot I can recommend while you're pregnant,” he told her. “Tylenol here and there should be okay, but it may not do much.”

 

She nodded. “I'm slightly uncomfortable taking anything to begin with. We had a hard time conceiving this time and had a scare this afternoon when I fell. I'll try to just tough it out.”

 

The doctor smiled. “I'll get you set up with that boot and then you can head home,” he winked. “Like I say, any questions or concerns, feel free to come right on back.”

 

///

 

“I'm glad _I_ don't have to wear one of those,” Chelsea said with distaste, pointing to her mother's walking boot propped up on a pillow as she lay in the bed reading her daughter a story.

 

“You should be,” Hillary laughed. “Mum doesn't like it very much.”

 

“I'm glad you're okay, Mummy,” Chelsea said softly, laying her head to her mother's chest and snuggling closer.

 

“Thank you baby girl,” Hillary answered, touched, kissing the top of her head. “Me too. Did you have fun at Mrs. Jameson's today?”

 

“Uh huh. We made you lots of chocolate coconut cluster thingies! I brought two containers home. Betsy put them in the fridge.”

 

“Yum,” Hillary intoned. “Thank you.”

 

“You're welcome,” Chelsea replied, gazing up at Hillary. “Did my blankie help you not be scared?”

 

“Yes honey,” she said. “It sure did. Blake's okay too, I think it helped him.”

 

“Yes, _Tara_ ,” Bill corrected as he cleared his throat and sauntered into the room, making them both laugh. “Is fine.”

 

“It's a _boy_ Daddy,” Chelsea giggled, shrieking when he started to tickle her.

 

“I don't know,” Bill hummed. “I saw pictures today and she looked like a little girl.”

 

“You saw pictures _inside_ Mummy's _tummy_?” Chelsea sat up straight, fascinated and wide eyed.

 

“You bet I did,” Bill smiled. “You still gonna love the baby if it comes out a little girl?”

 

“ _Duh_ ,” Chelsea told him emphatically, rolling her eyes. “I just won't love sharing my Barbies with her.”

 

Betsy gagged far off in the kitchen, seemingly having choked on a drink from laughing.

 

“It'll be a while before she's big enough for that, sweetheart,” Hillary told her. “You okay?” the blonde called to her gasping friend in the adjacent room.

 

“Fine, fine..” Betsy coughed.

 

“Okay,” Bill said. “Mummy needs to rest. I think it's time you go to your own bed. Kiss her goodnight.”

 

Chelsea leaned down and touched tiny, plump lips to one of Hillary's pale cheeks. “Night Mum, love you.”

 

“Night night, babe.”

 

As Chelsea walked off, Betsy sauntered in and took up the space she'd vacated. Fresh drink in hand, a serious expression was pasted on her face as she situated herself on the edge of Hillary's mattress.

 

“So, I took a leave from my job,” she said quietly, holding a hand out in protest when she saw Bill's mouth open and close repeatedly. “I'm staying until after my God baby is here, and I'm gonna help y'all for a while. I didn't plan on it, but Chelsea was talking about how sad she will be when I leave, and with this whole foot fiasco of Hill's going on I think it would be beneficial.”

 

“How long?” Hillary whispered.

 

“Indefinitely, for now,” Betsy said. “That is if you'll have me?” She smiled slyly and felt Hillary pulling her backwards onto the bed.

 

“Of course we will!” she said. “You're amazing.” Her eyes sparkled with tears not shed, and Betsy wiped them away.

 

“You too,” she countered. “I love you so much.”

 

“Y'all are a bunch of softies,” Bill scoffed. “Moving away from the estrogen,” he intoned, backing slowly out of the room as both ladies flipped him the bird.

 

They talked and cackled late into the night, and despite the happenings of the day, Hillary was beyond grateful for the love and support that flooded vast as open sea around her.

 


	9. Chapter 9

“Betsy,” Chelsea whined, voice distorted from her nasal passages being blocked. “I don't feel good.”

 

“What?” Betsy asked sleepily, rubbing discharge from the corners of her eyes and opening them all the way, waiting while her pupils adjusted to the dark. “What's wrong, baby?”

 

Chelsea moved further into the room as Betsy flicked on her bedside lamp and swung her limbs over the side of the mattress to sit up. “I'm all stuffy,” she said miserably, stopping in front of her mother's friend. “My head hurts. And I can't stop coughing. I throwed up from coughing so hard, and now my throat is on fire.”

 

“Oh, love,” Betsy cooed. “Did you make it to the bathroom before you vomited?”

 

“No,” Chelsea said, hanging her head, worried she would be in trouble. “I missed the garbage can. The floor in my room is all yucky. I'm sorry.”

 

“No sweetie,” Betsy told her gently. “It's not your fault. I'm not angry with you. We'll clean it all up, okay? Don't worry. Did you wake up Mummy or Daddy?”

 

Uh-uh.” The child shook her head to the negative. “I didn't wanna wake up Mummy because her foot hurts, so I came to get you first.”

 

“That's okay,” Betsy nodded. “I'm here to help Mum, so I'm glad you got me. I'll go clean up your floor. Do you want to take a nice warm bath after and see if that makes you feel better?”

 

“Yes please,” Chelsea nodded.

 

“Okay, come on.” Betsy stood and reached out a hand, which Chelsea happily clung to, following her like a lost puppy.

 

///

 

“Lift your arms up,” Betsy coaxed softly as she stood in the middle of the bathroom floor in front of Chelsea, who was all pale, feverish skin, messy hair and dishevelled pyjamas. The water for her bath created a soothing backdrop as it poured from the faucet, slapping softly against the porcelain of the tub.

 

The toddler did as requested and slowly raised little arms above her head, Betsy carefully pulling her pyjama top off, leaving it in an inside out heap on the ground to be washed later.

 

“I'm cold,” Chelsea said, voice small as she hugged herself and goosebumps raised up all over her flesh.

 

“I know honey, it's the fever. But the bath water will make you feel better.”

 

Chelsea nodded, seeming to accept the explanation. Sitting down on the edge of the tub, she made slow work of removing her socks, rising again to divest herself of pyjama pants and underwear and tossing them into the pile where her shirt lay. Once she was settled in the tub, Betsy sifted through the medicine cabinet for any medications that might ease her suffering.

 

“I'm gonna give you some cough medicine, okay?” Betsy told her after reading the directions for administering the liquid to children under twelve printed across the label. “Will probably soothe your throat and help you not to throw up again.”

 

“Okay,” Chelsea said cooperatively, likely too exhausted to put up a fight as she splashed gently in the soapy bubbles. “Does it taste yucky?”

 

Betsy giggled, remembering her own childhood and how much she despised being forced to take medicine when she fell ill. “It says it's supposed to taste like cherries, but I don't know, you'll have to see.” She unscrewed the childproof cap that doubled as a measure and poured the thick liquid into it up to the appropriate dosage line. “Make sure you swallow all of it, yeah? No matter how gross it tastes. Otherwise it's not gonna help you.”

 

“Okay,” Chelsea said nervously, halting her splashing to reach a pudgy little hand up out of the water and retrieve the cap of liquid. She knocked it back quickly, squeezing her eyes shut and screwing up her face. Betsy's eyes sparkled and she bit back her laughter. “That does _not_ taste like cherries.” Chelsea eyed her unimpressed. 

 

“Did you swallow it?” the older woman asked her sternly with an arched brow. “Open up and let me see.”

 

“Ahhhh,” Chelsea said, the syllable echoing off the walls in the quiet of night. Tiny mouth was opened as wide as was permitted, and Betsy peered all the way down the back of her throat, seeing no trace of deep pink liquid left behind except for the tint it had left on her tongue.

 

“Good girl, do you want Betsy to help you wash your hair?”

 

“Yes please. But can you wash it with the stuff that doesn't sting my eyes if it gets in there?” Chelsea asked, pointing to the red bottle of strawberry watermelon L'Oreal Kids shampoo by the tap.

 

“You bet I can,” Betsy said kindly, retrieving it. Popping the cap upward, she bent her head closer to the hole where the liquid came out of the bottle and inhaled. “Hmm,” she hummed in appreciation. “This smells nice. I may have to borrow some next time I take a bath.”

 

Chelsea giggled. “You can if you want to,” she said happily. “I'm good at sharing. Then our hair will smell the same.”

 

Betsy smiled as she squirted some of the liquid into a palm and rubbed them together, creating foamy suds before running fingers expertly through the toddler's strawberry blonde strands. “You tell me if I'm pulling too hard or anything, okay?”

 

“No, you're doing really good. You do it super soft like the hair dresser does when Mummy makes me get my hair cut and she washes it in the big sink.”

 

“Oh,” Betsy laughed. “That feels nice, huh? I love when they do that. The chair is really comfy, too.”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“'Kay, cover your eyes babe, I'm gonna rinse the shampoo out now.” She waited for Chelsea to squeeze her eyes tightly shut, fanning little hands out over them, before filling a plastic container on the side of the tub with warm water and slowly pouring it over her head. The ritual was repeated several times over, until all of the white liquid was visibly mingling in the bath water with fading bubbles.

 

“Thanks Betsy,” Chelsea said when she opened her eyes, and the elder grabbed a towel to soak up the droplets running off her hair. “I do feel a tiny bit better.”

 

“I'm happy to hear that,” Betsy said. “The medicine is probably helping.”

 

Chelsea nodded against her hands as she continued rubbing the towel over her head. “Are you ready to get into some new jammies and go back to sleep?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Which jammies do you want this time?” Betsy asked her.

 

“The fluffy princess ones,” Chelsea told her decisively, and she was impressed that a child her age could even recall so readily the clothing in her dresser drawers. “With Cinderella and Snow White on the shirt and the Seven Dwarves on the pants.”

 

///

 

“The end,” Betsy read softly, as she closed the storybook she and Chelsea had been reading together and set it on her bedside table.

 

“Can we read it  _one_ more time?” the toddler pleaded. 

 

“No baby,” Betsy said. “We've read it twice, and you need to get to sleep. Especially since you're not feeling well. Your body needs sleep to feel better.”

 

“Okay,” Chelsea relented, evidently too tired to protest. “But can you stay in my room?”

 

“Yes,” Betsy nodded in the dark. “I'll stay here in the bed with you until you fall asleep, but you need to actually go to sleep, okay? Don't be trying to stay awake just because I'm here.”

 

“Okay.” Betsy could tell even in the dim light that Chelsea's eyes were extremely heavy, and she felt her snuggle closer and lay her head in the crook of her arm. “You're a good cuddler,” she mumbled. “I think you might be my favourite.”

 

“I thought Daddy was your favourite?” Betsy asked.

 

“He is,” Chelsea said. “But you're my favourite too.”

 

Silence fell, and her breathing started to even out, Betsy feeling the rise and fall of her little chest. “I love you,” she said before finally falling asleep.

 

“Me too, baby,” Betsy answered, touching her lips to the top of the child's head. “Me too.”

 

Slowly and quietly, she slipped out of the bed and shut the door, leaving it open just a sliver, knowing Chelsea hated total darkness while she slept. In the kitchen, she accidentally collided with Bill, who had woken up and risen to get a glass of water.

 

“Oops, sorry,” Betsy chuckled softly. “Didn't see you there.”

 

“It's okay,” Bill said. “What're you doin' up?”

 

“Chelsea's sick,” Betsy explained. “Congested, threw up in the night. She didn't want to wake Hill because of her foot, decided to come get me. I gave her some medicine and a bath. Seems to be doing a bit better. We read a story, and she's off in dreamland now.”

 

“Thank you,” Bill said, clicking his tongue and looking at her with softened eyes. “You didn't have to do that. You could have woken me up.”

 

“I know,” Betsy said. “But I also know you have to work in the morning, so I took care of it. No big deal.”

 

“It's a very big deal,” Bill countered. “I'm gonna take tomorrow off and give you a break. You are to go out and do something to spoil yourself. The whole day is yours to piss away however you want. Understand?”

 

“Bill..” Betsy started, opening and closing her mouth several times, at a loss. “You can't just -”

 

“I can, I will, and I am, Bets. No arguments.” He took the last swig of his water, set the cup gently in the sink. “We'll talk more about it in the morning. Go on to bed, now. You need rest too.”

 

She half smiled, made her way down the hall, obliging his request. “Hey Bill?” she called over her shoulder, half turning to look at him.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Thanks,” she winked.

 

“Don't mention it,” he told her, disappearing behind the door of his bedroom.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are coming to the end of this. One or two more chapters. I may or may not turn this into a series and add spin off pieces after this is done. Depends what ideas flood my head. This chapter has a bit of a time jump from the last one. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Hillary grumbled and rolled onto her back as bright early morning sun poured through the slats of blinded bedroom windows, disturbing her unusually peaceful slumber. Removing an arm from its position across her eyes and blinking quickly a few times to clear her vision, she turned her head to the side and saw Bill standing close to the edge of the bed, fully clothed and grinning down at her.

 

“Mornin' sleepyhead,” he drawled as she looked to him unimpressed. “You'd better get out of bed and get ready. We've gotta see the doctor today about how that foot is healing.”

 

She struggled to sit up and he watched her for a moment before reaching out a hand to offer his assistance. Despite how pregnant she was and the state her foot was in, she insisted on remaining very independent. Unappreciative of being coddled, she'd snapped at her husband on more than one occasion when she felt crowded.

 

“What time do we have to be there by?” Hillary questioned as she swung her legs over the side of the mattress and gingerly stood up, careful to put most of her weight on the leg not wrapped up in a walking boot.

 

“Twelve fifteen,” Bill said, watching her carefully and trying to disguise the nervous breath he was holding. “You not take that off to sleep last night?” he tilted his chin downward toward the boot. Neck deep in paperwork the previous evening, he'd made his way to bed long after Betsy had ensured his wife was settled and - at least somewhat peacefully – asleep.

 

“No,” Hillary said. “Most nights I can do without it now, but it was throbbing more than usual.”

 

“I guess it's a good thing we're having it looked at today then,” Bill mused. “You headin' for the shower?”

 

“Mm-hmm.”

 

Bill nodded. “Betsy's out in the kitchen whippin' up French Toast with Chelsea. I'm sure she'll plate you some. You need a hand?”

 

“Nah,” Hillary said dismissively, shaking her head. “Thanks honey, but I've got it. I'm not quite as awkward as I was in the beginning. Injury's growing on me,” she smiled. “I'll yell if I need ya.”

 

“All right.”

 

///

 

“This French toast is so fluffy,” Chelsea said excitedly as Betsy helped her use a plastic flipper to remove another freshly made slice from the pan. The smell of cinnamon hanging in the air in the kitchen seemed to make everything better and those within it more cheerful all of its own accord.

 

“It is, hey?” Betsy said, eyes shining. “You think Mum will like it?”

 

“Uh huh, but we should make lots more, because she has to eat enough to feed Blakey some, too.”

 

Betsy laughed. “Yeah, I'm sure she'll be pretty hungry.”

 

“Are we still doing the thing where we surprise Mummy and Daddy while they're at the doctor?” Chelsea asked, lowering her voice when she took in Betsy standing stock still with a finger to pursed lips.

 

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, nodding. “But you can't talk about it until they leave, okay? They're still in the house getting ready.”

 

“Oops, sorry,” Chelsea whispered, giggling.

 

“Who's getting ready?” Bill asked as he sauntered into the kitchen and plucked a banana from the bunch on the counter. Once he peeled it, he went in search of the peanut butter. Betsy knew instinctively what he was looking for and reached into the cupboard which housed it, handing it to him.

 

“I was just telling Chelsea that Mum is getting ready to go to the doctor so he can check if her foot is getting better.”

 

“Oh,” Bill said with a nod. “Thanks.” He tapped the peanut butter with a forefinger before fetching a butter knife from a drawer and situating himself at the table.

 

“We made you breakfast, Mum!” Chelsea singsonged as she noticed Hillary come into the room. She was still towel drying her hair from the shower, hopping along with one foot raised, boot clutched in her hand. “You did?” she smiled happily, exhaling deeply once her nostrils took in the decadent smell permeating the modest space.

 

“Uh huh! French toast. With lots of cinnamon. I helped Betsy do it. We made a lot 'cause I thought Blakey would be hungry too.”

 

“Tara,” Bill corrected from across the room through a mouthful of peanut butter and banana.

 

Hillary laughed. “Thank you honey,” she said appreciatively. “He is hungry. He's kicking at me right now.”

 

“Can I feel him?! Chelsea shrieked, quickly abandoning her post near the stove next to her mother's friend to stand directly in front of Hillary's pregnant belly.

 

“Of course you can. Hold on, wait 'til I sit down.” She pulled up a chair and slowly lowered herself down into it so she was no longer standing awkwardly on one foot. Tossing the walking boot she'd been holding onto the floor in front of her, she encouraged her daughter to move closer. “Give Mama your hand.”

 

She smiled kindly and Chelsea did as instructed. Hillary placed a tiny palm onto the section of her abdomen most alive with movement and pressed, watching her child's eyes sparkle in amazement and wonder.

 

“Woah,” Chelsea breathed. “Did I used to do that when I was in there?!”

 

“All the time,” Bill spoke up, having finished his banana. “Daddy used to touch all over Mama's tummy to try and calm ya down 'cause you'd be doing somersaults when she wanted to sleep.”

 

Chelsea's eyes grew big. “Really?”

 

“Uh huh,” Hillary nodded, laughing.

 

“ _Cool_ ,” she intoned. “Does it hurt when he moves around?”

 

“Sometimes,” Hillary told her. “It depends where he's sitting. But it's not really painful. Just kind of uncomfortable.”

 

“I want him to come out,” Chelsea said impatiently. “He's taking too long.”

 

“He's not big enough quite yet,” Hillary smiled. “Soon. Just another couple of weeks now.”

 

“Did you need a hand with that boot, love?” Bill asked her, rising from his chair. “We should get going soon.”

 

“Yes, actually. Thank you.”

 

Bill nodded, making his way around to her and kneeling down. Carefully, he unfastened the Velcro straps of the boot and gingerly lifted his wife's injured foot into it. He watched her face for any signs he had unintentionally hurt her.

 

“Does it hurt when I touch it?” he asked softly.

 

“Not nearly as much as it did,” she smiled kindly. “You're fine.”

 

As he readjusted the straps, Bill ran his lengthy fingers affectionately along his wife's calf. “Your legs feel nice,” he purred. “You shaved them all by yourself?”

 

“I managed,” Hillary chuckled. “I was worried I missed a few spots.”

 

“You did fine,” he assured. “Too tight?” he questioned as he finished doing up her boot.

 

She shook her head to the negative. “Perfect.” She pursed her lips and Bill instinctively rose slightly off his knees to meet her in a kiss before standing up.

 

“Chelsea, honey,” Hillary said, standing after him. “We're leaving. Be good for Betsy, okay?”

 

“Yes Mummy,” Chelsea said sweetly. “I hope the doctor makes you all better.”

 

Hillary's heart constricted. “Thanks baby,” she said thickly. “Come hug me goodbye.”

 

Chelsea stepped closer and her mother bent downward enough for her to embrace her in a sort of half hearted hug. “Love you.”

 

“Thanks for watching her,” Hillary smiled at Betsy as she returned to full height.

 

“Oh, it's no big deal. You know you don't have to thank me.” She wrapped the blonde in a hug, lingering a few seconds and rubbing her hand over her back in affection as she always did. “Drive safe.”

 

“We will do,” Bill winked.

 

Betsy waited for them to make their way out the door before shutting it behind them. Once she saw the car back all the way out the drive, she turned to Chelsea with a devilish smile and extended a thumbs up. “Let's go call Grandma,” she said.

 

///

 

“I come bearing gifts,” Dorothy joked as she walked through the entryway of her daughter's brownstone with armloads of food, Hugh tailing behind her with an enormous cooler of drinks.

 

“Oh, you didn't have to do that,” Betsy admonished lightly. “When we started planning this and it was decided y'all would come back down for a barbecue I said I would take care of the food.”

 

“Well, I know,” Dorothy said dismissively, setting her bundles of goods down on the kitchen island when distance allowed for it. “But I wanted to take some of the load off of you. Hill and I talk regularly and I know she's super appreciative of what a help you've been, but she feels a bit of a burden.”

 

“She told you that?”

 

Dorothy nodded wordlessly as she shrugged out of her wind breaker, running a hand over the outside to dry up stray droplets of rain still running down the front.

 

“She's never a burden on me. I'm more than happy to be here.”

 

“I know that too,” Dorothy said softly as she moved to hang her coat in the front hallway, touching Betsy's shoulder on the way by. “You're a good friend.”

 

“Shall I start up the grill?” Hugh called to his wife, slipping out of his shoes and making his way to the fridge in search of barbecue sauce to marinate the cuts of meat they had brought with them.

 

“Long as they have propane in it, yeah,” Dorothy called back. “If not I'm gonna have to run and get some.”

 

“You're good.” Betsy had taken it upon herself to cut up vegetables for a veggie tray, and was laying them meticulously across a serving platter she'd found in Hillary's cupboards. “Bill just got another tank the other day and hasn't grilled yet.”

 

“Oh, perfect.”

 

“I hope people are hungry,” Betsy chuckled as she watched Hugh stand to full height and move on to fetching a plate for the meat, having found the sauces he wanted. “This is a lot of food, and y'all haven't even seen what I already made.”

 

///

 

“Your foot seems to be healing very nicely.” Hillary's family physician had opted to meet them at the hospital, and was examining the most recent scans of her injury – having completed a tactile exam of her extremity moments before. She lay sprawled out on an examination table, Bill standing supportively next to her holding the walking boot he'd divested her of in his left hand.

 

“How often do you wear the boot now?” the doctor asked her.

 

“In the beginning I wore it all the time because it was recommended,” Hillary said. “Now, if it's not sore or throbbing, I will sleep without it and usually it's all right. Obviously I take it off in the shower. Sometimes in the middle of the day too, for a breather if I'm sitting stationary.”

 

He nodded. “Like I said, everything seems to be on par with the healing process, so whatever you've been doing or feel comfortable doing from here with regards to the boot should be fine. I'm going to recommend though that you gradually start putting more weight on that side when out of the boot. Just in small increments. Have someone with you just in case it's a touch overwhelming at first or you feel your legs buckling. If you feel it necessary I can give you a referral for a physio appointment and they can have a therapist recommend tailored rehabilitative exercises for you.”

 

“I don't think that'll be necessary,” Hillary mused, looking toward Bill. “We can manage, no?”

 

“Yeah, we'll be fine,” Bill echoed. “She's not in total agony any more. Getting back to being independent, often refuses my help,” he laughed. “We're due in two and a half weeks, so that's our main focus right now.”

 

“Understandable,” the physician smiled. “Creeps up on you quickly, doesn't it?”

 

“It sure does,” Bill smiled. “I'm excited though.”

 

“No doubt. Congratulations again.” The doctor removed his gloves, tossing them into the bin underneath his desk. “Have you been nesting, Hill?” he joked as her husband replaced the boot to her injured foot and helped her carefully off the table.

 

“Like crazy,” she said. “Even more so than with Chelsea.”

 

///

“Everything looks so good.” A mutual friend of Hillary and Betsy – one of the first to arrive to the secret shindig minus Dorothy and Hugh – stood off to the side as Betsy set the table and began laying it with the smorgasbord of foods. The platters of meat (rib eye steaks, burgers, and boneless breasts of chicken) were the last to be added and sat in the middle like prized jewel on a pedestal.

 

“Right?” Betsy intoned. “I can't wait for them to get back so we can eat,” she laughed. “Hugh can grill. I'm excited.”

 

“Hill has no idea about any of this?”

 

“Not an inkling,” Betsy said proudly. “Second surprise we've pulled over on her since I've been here. I think I'm getting pretty good at it.”

 

“I can't wait to see the look on her face.”

 

///

“Mummy's home!” Chelsea said as she ran toward Betsy and the groups of people dispersed throughout the back yard after having peeked around front when she thought she'd heard a car coming up the drive.

 

“Okay,” Betsy chuckled. “You can go say hi and ask her how her appointment went and bring her back here if you want to.”

 

“Okay,” Chelsea answered brightly, walking briskly in the opposite direction again.

 

“Hi baby,” Hillary smiled as she slowly made her way out of the vehicle and shut the passenger side door. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

 

“I'm not by myself,” Chelsea told her. “Betsy's in the backyard. We were reading under the tree.”

 

“Oh, that's nice,” Bill spoke up. “You want us to come back there with ya?”

 

“Yes please,” Chelsea said sweetly, and Hillary allowed the child to lead her by the hand, careful when stepping over uneven grass that had caused her injury in the first place.

 

They got to the gate, and Bill manoeuvred round his wife so as to unlatch it and let she and Chelsea pass through. Their eyes widened, and a grin as wide as the Cheshire cat spread across his face when he took in the throngs of everyone they knew and loved materialised before them.

 

“Surprise!” everyone yelled in unison.

 

“What..” Hillary stammered. “How?” She took in Betsy standing off to the side near the table of food, grinning devilishly. “You!” Hillary laughed. “You planned this?”

 

“You bet I did,” Betsy laughed. “Pulled one over on you again.”

 

“You're getting good at that,” Bill spoke up, and laughter echoed around them.

 

“I figured you deserved one last hurrah before baby,” Betsy winked. “Come, sit, relax. There's tons of food. I hope you're hungry.”

 

“Famished, actually,” Hillary smiled, realising her stomach had been rumbling. She sat down close to Betsy, and her friend instantly got to work on fixing her a plate.

 

“Well, that explains all the cars we saw parked on the street,” Hillary chuckled, gratefully accepting the prepared food and digging in once Betsy made her way back and sat down next to her.

 

“Yeah,” she laughed. “We couldn't fit 'em all in the garage this time.”

 

“How long had you been planning this?” Hillary cocked a brow in curiosity.

 

“Two weeks or so,” Betsy shrugged, half smiling.

 

“Well, thank you.” Hillary looked at her best friend in pure affection. “Everything you've done means so much to me. Even the small stuff. The dishes when I don't feel well, handling Chelsea when she doesn't feel well, or just being there to spend some extra time with her. You've been such a huge help. I feel a little bad that there's been so much on your shoulders, though.”

 

“Oh, stop,” Betsy said gently, waving dismissively. “You don't have to thank me. You know I'm glad for any excuse to see you. I'm happy to help. I'm gonna be sad when I have to go home.”

 

“Me too,” Hillary nodded in the affirmative, gazing off into the distance.

 

“How's the foot?” Betsy asked after a while, piercing the companionable silence that had fallen betwixt them.

 

“It's good,” Hillary said. “Doctor says it's healing nicely. I can wear the boot as often or as little as I see fit from here on out pretty well, though I'm supposed to slowly start bearing more weight on that side.”

 

“Oh good,” Betsy said. “I'm sure you'll do fine. I'm glad it's getting better.”

 

///

Hillary lay in their marital bed, Bill on her opposite side, his lamp casting a soft glow over the room as he sat propped against a stack of pillows completely engrossed in a book. Reading glasses had slid down his face and sat perched just below the bridge of his nose.

 

“You're cute,” Hillary giggled, turning her head to the side and looking at him. He glanced up from his page and half smiled. She rolled onto one side and used index and middle fingers to situate his glasses properly before pecking his lips.

 

“Why, thank you,” Bill said playfully. “You're not so bad yourself.”

 

Hillary laughed heavily, removed one of his hands from the side of his book and fused their fingers. “Did you have a good time today? I can't believe how many people were here.”

 

“I did,” Bill smiled. “This baby is definitely very loved already.”

 

“Yeah,” Hillary sighed. “I don't think I've ever had so many people touch my belly this whole entire pregnancy.”

 

Bill chucked. “You seemed to love all the attention though, for someone who's not always particularly fond of being touched.”

 

“Oh, I did,” she smiled. “Blake loved it even more than I did. Was kicking like crazy.”

 

Bill untangled his hand from his wife and touched down on the swell of her stomach. “He's pretty quiet right now.”

 

“It won't last,” Hillary told him softly, chuckling when the baby started moving against her husband's hand mere seconds after her utterance.

 

“I can't wait to have her here,” Bill whispered.  
  
“You're awfully insistent that it's a little girl,” she smirked. “But I know, me neither. I want to know what he looks like. Two and a half more weeks.”

 

“Either way,” he said, “regardless of gender I hope they look just like you.”

 

She looked into his eyes for long moments before blinking. There were many moments throughout her life she'd believed herself unable to fall any more deeply in love with the man opposite – but always, he surprised her. “You're a sap,” she said. “And I have to pee.”

 

Bill quickly pecked his wife's lips, removed his hand from her abdomen to let her up. Slowly, she made her way out of bed and to the toilet across the hall. He couldn't help but notice the sway of changed, widened hips as she walked away and licked his lips appreciatively.

 

///

“So,” Hillary said slowly as she made her way back into the room a few minutes later. “Two and a half weeks has come sooner than we thought.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Bill asked, confused, as he dog earred his page and set his book on his night table.

 

“My water just broke,” Hillary smiled nervously. “It's happening.”

 

“Now?!” Bill said, straightening up and nearly bolting out of bed.

 

“Right now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I left it there. Please don't shoot me. *Hides face and runs away* 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope the double update made up for the long gap. I will be busy part of the long weekend, but there are another couple of fics I'm working on that will be coming out very soon so keep your eyes peeled! ;)


	11. Chapter 11

“How the hell can there be this much traffic this late into the evening?!” Bill said exasperated from the back seat of Betsy's car as she long pressed her horn for the hundredth time and they inched along the slightest bit. Hillary clutched tightly to his hand, though she was between contractions.

 

“They're coming closer together now,” she said worriedly. “What if we don't make it in time?”

 

Bill gently touched his lips to her temple, brushed stray strands of hair away from her forehead.

 

“Oh, we'll make it don't worry,” Betsy told her, blindly reaching a hand around into the back and briefly touching Hillary's knee. “If I have to get out of this car and stand screaming in the middle of the highway I will, I promise you.

 

“Fucking _move_!” she screamed frustratedly at the lines of vehicles ahead of her, pressing her horn several times consecutively. 

 

“You made sure Ruth could watch Chelsea into tomorrow when you dropped her off, right?” Hillary asked Bill through clenched teeth, double checking – he knew – to keep her mind off her pain.

 

“Yes honey,” Bill said tenderly. “Don't worry about Chelsea. You just worry about yourself and this baby right now, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Hillary squealed, squeezing her eyes shut as a few lone tears trickled down her face. “God, this hurts so much.”

 

“I know,” Bill cooed. “I'm sorry I can't take it away for you, but I'm right here. Just breathe and squeeze my hand. Hard as you have to, I don't care. Scream if you want, it's okay.”

 

She leaned into him, crying harder while simultaneously digging her nails into his hand. “I love you.”

 

“Shh,” Bill soothed. “I love you most.”

 

“Is the line moving at all?!” Hillary asked Betsy through a string of sobs. “I feel like I'm being ripped apart!”

 

“I know,” she said softly from the driver's seat, feeling horribly helpless. “It's moving a bit faster now. Breathe, love, okay? I love you and I'm doing the best I can to get you there on time. Whatever happens I'm with you, do you hear me? I'm not going anywhere. You're gonna be fine.”

 

“Do you promise?” Hillary wailed as Bill wiped steadily streaming tears off her reddened face. 

 

“Cross my heart,” Betsy told her, making the motions to do so single handedly.

 

“Do me a favour?” 

 

“Anything, babe,” Betsy answered, trying to keep her talking. “You name it and I've got you. What is it?”

 

“When we get to the hospital,” Hillary choked out, stopping mid sentence to breathe through a particularly difficult contraction, “kick my husband directly in the balls so he cannot do this to me again.”

 

Betsy bit down on her lip so as not to laugh in front of her pained and struggling friend, moved her eyes upward into the visor mirror and caught Bill's reflection doing the same. “I'm sorry,” she heard him repeat into his wife's ear, running his fingers through her hair.

 

“You bet I will,” she promised Hillary before looking at Bill apologetically. 

 

///

 

“Betsy, don't leave me!” Hillary clutched tighter to her friend's hand as she stepped slightly away from the bed. They'd finally gotten her into a room and situated, were waiting on the doctor to come in and check the progress of her dilation.

 

“I'm not going anywhere Hill, I promise,” she said softly. “I'm just gonna pull a chair up close to you 'cause my feet hurt. I'm right here. Relax.”

 

“Okay,” Hillary exhaled, releasing her hand. “I'm sorry.”

 

“No,” Betsy said, shaking her head. “It's okay.” She pulled the stray chair away from the wall and situated it close to the bed, seating herself before clasping Hillary's hand through the slats in the bed rails. Bill was standing on the opposite side, rubbing slow, gentle circles over her back.

 

Contractions even more intense than the ones coursing through her in the back of the car began coming almost continuously, and she struggled to maintain control. Inhaling through the nose before letting the breath out through her mouth, she opened her eyes to look directly into Betsy's.   
  
“I feel like I have to push,” Hillary told her with urgency. “Like, now.”

 

“Okay,” Betsy soothed, making to get up. “I'll go find the doctor.”

 

“I'll do it,” Bill spoke up, holding up a hand, knowing Hillary wouldn't want her to leave.

 

“Bill?” Hillary questioned without moving to look at him. 

 

He stopped abruptly and half turned. “Yes, baby?” 

 

“Please hurry.”

 

///

 

“Hillary, I need you to roll onto your back and open your legs for me, okay?” the doctor asked kindly. Her voice was soothing and gentle, and Hillary instantly liked her. She did as instructed, and her ears took in the snap of rubber gloves being pulled onto deft, expert hands. 

 

“Can she get anything for pain?” Bill spoke into open air, clutching protectively to his wife's hand as she was being examined.

 

“There's no time,” the doctor answered as she locked eyes with him, removing her hand from where it had been situated during the process of checking his wife's cervix. “She's fully dilated now.”

 

“Does that mean I can push?” Hillary piped up through gritted teeth. 

 

“It does,” the doctor half smiled. “Give me two seconds to get situated here, and the next time you feel like you have to you bear down as hard as you can for me, okay?”

 

“Thank fuck,” Hillary growled on an exhale. 

 

“Would you like to come around here with me and watch?” the doctor asked of Betsy. “You can help me pull the baby out if you want to.”

 

Betsy thought for a second, momentarily apprehensive as she looked to Hillary. She knew her friend wanted her there, to be a part of the experience – and the child's life thereafter – in a major capacity, but she wondered if the intimacy of such duties should be left to Bill. 

 

“Can I?” she questioned, moving her gaze quickly between the two of them. “I won't if you don't want me to.”

 

Hillary lessened the death grip on her hand, managed a half smile through the pain creeping up on her again. “Go,” she told her. “Auntie Betsy deserves to witness her god baby making his or her debut into the world.”

 

“Bill?” Betsy arched a brow, feeling as though she needed his consent as well. 

 

“Go ahead,” he smiled, eyes sparkling. “This is your experience just as much as ours. I'll be up here with Hill.”

 

///

 

...seven, eight, nine, and ten,” the doctor counted out loud as Hillary – all sweating, burning skin – flopped backwards onto the pillows. “I can't,” she wailed as Bill ran a damp towelete gently over her forehead. “I can't do this anymore. I'm so tired.” 

 

“I know love,” Bill told her gently, lovingly. “But you can do it. I know you can. You're super strong and you're almost there. A few more pushes and you'll be holding Blake or Tara and forget all about this. It'll be over soon and it'll all be worth it.”

 

“Hill?” Betsy called to her from her position down by her legs. “Listen to the sound of my voice, yeah?”

 

She saw Hillary's head move up and down in a nod against the pillows. 

 

“Good girl,” she said. “Open your eyes and look at me.”

 

Slowly, Hillary did what was asked of her.

 

“The head is literally  _right_ there love,” Betsy told her, beaming. “Baby has  _so_ much hair.”

 

“What colour?” Hillary asked her, needing the encouragement to press on.

 

“Black,” Betsy said definitively. “Pitch black. Thick, dark, wavy black hair. That's all I see. You want to see what they look like, right?”

 

“Mm-hmm,” she grunted in response, nodding again. 

 

“Then I need you to push for me, okay? I know you're tired, but I also know you and you are  _so_ strong. Push a couple more times with everything you have and I promise you, baby will be in my hands.”

 

“God,” Hillary groaned. “I'm gonna die.”

 

“No,” Betsy said, shaking her head. “You've got this. I swear to you you're so close. Push. Please. For me?”

 

“Fuck!” Hillary screamed, bearing down again, clutching Bill's hand.

 

“That's it, babe,” he encouraged, craning his neck in attempt to take it all in. 

 

“Oh my god,” Betsy breathed, covering her mouth before wiping at the tears falling from her eyes. “Go, Hill,” she said as she watched the baby's head fully emerge.

 

“The head is out,” the doctor called to her, making quick work of suctioning mucus from the baby's nose and mouth. “Push one more time for me and we'll guide the shoulders and torso out.” She motioned for Betsy to step closer.

 

“One more push, Hill,” Betsy said “And baby will be in my hands.”

 

Hillary squeezed her eyes shut, conjuring up the mental image of her best friend physically guiding her long awaited, desperately wanted child from her body. Putting her chin to her chest, she expended the last of rapidly depleting energy.

 

“It's a little girl,” Betsy called happily through a round of sobs as she felt the tiny, pink, wailing mass fall into her. Umbilical cord was swiftly clamped and cut, and Tara was quickly placed onto Hillary's chest. 

 

“What did I tell ya?” Bill said, eyes sparkling as he gazed down at his newborn daughter. 

 

Hillary laughed, peering down at new life with tired eyes. Her heart constricted repeatedly when it sunk in that this bundle of perfection existed solely because of love that had passed between their bodies. “She's perfect.”

 

“Just like her Mama,” Bill said tenderly, and Hillary turned her face, kissing him sloppily.

 

“You were amazing,” he told her once the doctor had whisked the baby away to be cleaned up and weighed.

 

“Eight pounds, ten ounces of perfect health,” the doctor smiled, handing Bill his freshly swaddled child. “Congratulations. Do we have a name?”

 

“Tara Lindsay Clinton,” Bill told her.

 

“That's pretty. It suits her.”

 

“You know,” Hillary spoke up after long silent moments appreciating the sight of her husband rocking their new addition in his arms and humming to her. “I just realised her full initials are TLC.”

 

“That's the reason she's here,” Bill cooed, never looking away from Tara's face. “So that works just fine.”

 

Betsy laughed heavily, stepping tentatively closer, unsure of whether she should interrupt their private moments.

 

“You wanna hold her?” Hillary asked, doing the interrupting of her own accord. 

 

“Oh, I don't know...” she trailed off. “Bill's got her.” 

 

“Bill's got the rest of his life to be her father,” he spoke up, looking at Betsy. “She needs her Aunt too.” He carefully extended the bundle of precious cargo in her direction. “Here.”

 

Betsy opened her arms, accepting the weight of the child easily. She paced around the length of the hospital room, murmuring in hushed tones, seemingly having a full conversation while Tara peered intently up at her.

 

“You have such big eyes, and you look just like Chelsea,” Betsy cooed, and Hillary giggled. 

 

“Ooh,  _big_ yawn.” Betsy watched Tara's tiny mouth stretch and open into a wide 'o' before closing again. “Are we sleepy? I think so. Let's go back over to Mummy so you can fall asleep on her, yeah?”

 

“You and she together are the most adorable thing I've ever seen in my life,” Hillary said when Betsy handed her child back.

 

“My ovaries are screaming,” Betsy laughed. “Seriously. I may never go home now.”

 

“Maybe we won't ask you to,” Hillary told her softly. “Thank you for being here for this. And all the things that led up to it.” In that moment, she couldn't think of anyone she loved and admired more deeply than the friend who stood opposite, minus her husband. 

 

“Thank you for having me.”

 

Hillary grasped her fingers. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” Betsy responded without reservation. She ran index and middle fingers tenderly over one of Tara's tiny, plump cheeks as the infant drifted off to sleep. “And I absolutely  _adore_ you.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

“Did Blakey come?!” Chelsea asked excitedly as Betsy made her way through Ruth's front door to pick her up.

 

“No,” Betsy said softly with a half smile, crouching down so as to be at the toddler's level. “But Tara did.”

 

“It's a _girl_?” Chelsea crooned, incredulous.

 

“Uh huh,” Betsy nodded. “Are you upset?”

 

The child thought for a moment, wheels spinning in her young mind. “No,” she said slowly, “But Mummy and me thought she was gonna be a boy.”

 

“I know,” Betsy chuckled, standing to full height. “But we can go meet her right now if you want to. You just need to run and get your coat and boots first.”

 

“Okay,” Chelsea nodded, heading in the direction of the front closet.

 

“Thanks for watching her,” Betsy said to Hillary's next door neighbour as she waited. “I'm sure she had a blast over here.”

 

Ruth nodded. Her back was turned, aged hands busy spooning drops of cookie dough made from scratch onto parchment paper. “You're welcome. She couldn't sleep much, so might be cranky later.”

 

“Got my boots on,” Chelsea singsonged as she stepped back into the room, half zipping her raincoat.

 

“Good job,” Betsy praised. “You got 'em on the wrong feet though, love. You want Betsy to help you fix 'em or can you do it?”

 

“Can you please help?”

 

“Absolutely. Good job using your manners and asking so nicely. Come here.”

 

Chelsea smiled shyly, stepped closer and extended her feet as Betsy bent down to switch each boot to the opposite foot. “Comfy?”

 

Chelsea nodded. “Thank you.”

 

“You're welcome. Go on out to the car, okay?” Opening the screen door wide enough, she allowed her friend's daughter to slip through and watched her cross Ruth's front deck and make her way into the back seat of the Buick parked in the driveway.

 

“Thanks again,” Betsy said to open space, and Ruth turned around, walking closer to her. “Here.”

 

“Oh, don't be silly,” Ruth guffawed, waving a dismissive hand toward the two twenty dollar bills between Betsy's outstretched fingers. “Was no trouble at all.”

 

“Take it,” Betsy insisted. “Hillary would want you to.”

 

Ruth let loose a resigned, heavy sigh and gently retrieved the money. “Make sure she knows she is not to pay me next time,” she winked.

 

“I will do.”

 

///

 

“What does Tara look like?” Chelsea questioned from the back seat of the car as Betsy stopped at a Drive Thru window to retrieve the brown paper bag holding both her and Hillary's orders inside.

 

Betsy chuckled from her position in the front seat, glanced quickly in the visor mirror as she put the car into gear again. It was one of about a thousand questions the toddler had fired off in the last ten minutes. For someone who had been so gung ho to have a brother, she was quickly warming to the notion of sharing the princess title with Tara.

 

“Well,” Betsy said, eyes sparkling as she thought of her arrival into the world and how she'd been permitted the privilege of witnessing it all over again. “She has lots of thick black hair.”

 

“Did you hold her already?”

 

“Uh huh. I was there when she came out.”

 

“How did she get out of Mummy's tummy?”

 

Betsy clutched tighter to the steering wheel, thinking on the spot before she glanced upward into the mirror above her again. “The doctors helped her come out. They're special. They can do things that you and I can't do.”

 

“Did it hurt Mama when she came out?”

 

Betsy nodded, not wanting to lie to Chelsea but feeling as though it was not her place to have the full on conversation about the birds and the bees. “A little bit,” she said. “But doctors can make lots of boo boos go away, even when your tummy hurts. So Mum is okay now.”

 

“Oh,” Chelsea breathed, relieved. “Okay. Were you there when I came out, too?”

 

Betsy shook her head. “Nope, but I came to see you two weeks later.”

 

“Are you coming home with us to help Mummy and Daddy take care of Tara?”

 

“Yes,” Betsy said. “But I'm leaving tomorrow.”

 

Chelsea's face became contorted, and Betsy worried she might cry. “Can I come home with you?”

 

“No baby,” she answered gently. “I'm sorry. Besides, you'd miss Mummy too much.”

 

“No,” Chelsea retorted, defiant. “I can just call her on the phone if I get sad.”

 

“Chelsea, honey...”

 

“What?” the toddler challenged. “I don't want you to go.”

 

“I know, but I have to. I'll be back as soon as I can. Tara is here now and I'm gonna want to come back and see her a lot.”

 

“Swear?”

 

“Pinky swear,” Betsy whispered, eyes glistening with pent up tears.

 

///

 

“Hey,” Betsy said softly as she and Chelsea stepped tentatively into Hillary's hospital room. She was propped up against a stack of pillows reading an outdated copy of _Vogue_ while Bill sat in a chair off to the side, completely mesmerized by a sleeping Tara.

 

“Hey.” Hillary looked up and removed her oversized eyeglasses, setting them on the table on wheels close to her bed.

 

“Brought you a bagel and some apple juice,” Betsy half smiled, setting the food confined to foil wrapping and a plastic bottle gingerly on the table. Remembering what Hillary's neighbour had said when she'd collected Chelsea, she spoke again. “I gave Ruth forty bucks. She said not to pay her next time.”

 

“Betsy,” Hillary chided. “You didn't have to. Let me pay you back. Bill, where's my purse?” she asked him, shuffling in the bed.

 

“No, Hill,” Betsy said sternly, stepping closer to halt her friend's movements. “Relax. Eat your food. Chill. It's forty bucks. Consider following my orders adequate repayment.”

 

Hillary sighed. “All right.”

 

Chelsea stepped closer to Bill, peering curiously at the tightly wrapped bundle in his arms. “Hi Daddy,” she whispered, careful not to wake her sister from slumber.

 

“Hi baby,” he said, love lacing his voice. “Did you have fun at Ruth's house?”

 

“Uh huh,” Chelsea nodded. “We made cookies. I wanted to make some for the baby but Ruth said they would be too tiny to eat them, so we didn't.”

 

“Oh,” Bill laughed. “That's okay. You can teach her how to make cookies when she gets big like you are.”

 

“Yup.” Chelsea nodded again. “I'll teach her lots of stuff. I'm gonna be the best big sister _ever_.”

 

Across the room, Hillary looked to Betsy with sappy eyes. “Excuse me while I melt into a puddle,” she said thickly, having taken in everything her oldest had said.

 

“Right there with you,” Betsy laughed, feeling her heart swell. “She's so precious.”

 

“I knew she wouldn't be upset long if it didn't end up being a boy.”

 

“Dad?” Chelsea asked softly.

 

“Yes, honey?”

 

“Can I hold her?” She touched a chubby pointer finger gently to Tara's little nose, longing to be trusted to do what she saw her father doing.

 

“Sure,” Bill smiled, slowly standing from his chair and pointing to the seat. “You've gotta sit, though.”

 

Chelsea happily and wordlessly obliged, eagerly held out her arms. “I'll be really careful. And I have to hold the head, right?”

 

“That's right. Ready?” Bill slowly placed the baby down onto her older sister, situating himself round the left side of the chair and kneeling in order to help her.

 

“Wow,” Chelsea breathed, letting her eyes wander over the tiny human she was holding.

 

“What do you think?” Bill asked. “Do you like her?”

 

“I _love_ her,” she answered, looking starry eyed. “Her face is almost the same as mine.”

 

“That's the first thing I said when she came out,” Betsy said. “She looks a lot like you, just a totally different hair colour.”

 

“Mum?” Chelsea asked, looking across to her.

 

“What, sweetie?”

 

“Can I read Tara her bedtime story when she comes home?”

 

“Absolutely you can,” Hillary told her. “She'll like that. You'll have to teach her how to read and help her learn because you're bigger than she is and already know how to do all this stuff.”

 

“Uh huh,” Chelsea said. “I'll make sure she's really smart.”

 

Hillary laughed. “Oh I don't doubt that.”

 

“She's so soft and squishy,” Chelsea squealed. “She's looking at me.” Tara had opened one eye and was peering curiously at her sibling, fascinated at the sounds of her voice. “I'm your sister,” Chelsea told her proudly. “You're my favourite.”

 

“They still discharging you this afternoon?” Betsy asked Hillary softly, sitting on the edge of the hospital cot.

 

“Looks that way,” she said. She sat staring off into the distance at her toddler, husband and newborn, and could have sworn she felt her heart actually expanding and becoming bigger. She was exhausted, famished, and had an aching body to go along with her still slightly aching foot, but she knew this was happiness in its rawest, purest form. She was floating on the highest cloud. She wanted to stay lost in the moment forever.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter. I'm toying with the idea of a spin off. We'll see what happens. Thanks to all who have supported this story! Was a great, fun write. xx

“Where's Tara?” Hillary cooed as she sat cross legged on the nursery floor, her youngest wiggling like a worm as she lay on her back on a play mat. Hillary uncovered her eyes, mock surprise playing over her features, and the baby giggled heavily.

 

“There's my baby,” she said tenderly as she brought her hands down. She rested one on Tara's chubby belly and tickled. “Mummy loves you _so_ much, do you know that?” 

 

The infant smiled her agreement, and Hillary leaned forward to peck her nose.

 

“Honey?” Bill said softly as he stepped into the room, waving down at Tara with a free hand. “Phone.”

 

“I didn't even hear it,” Hillary mused. “Can you watch her?”

 

“Of course,” Bill said, kneeling down onto the floor and resuming the same position his wife had done just as she made to stand up and walked from the room into the kitchen. Picking up the receiver from its cradle, she cleared her throat.

 

“Hello?”

 

“How're my babies?” Betsy's voice carried down the line, clear as crystal and dripping with affection. She knew there was no need to explain who was calling.

 

“They miss you deeply,” Hillary chuckled. “We all do. I can't believe it's been two months since you left.”

 

“I  _know_ ,” Betsy intoned. “I got the pictures you sent in the mail. I now have a serious case of separation anxiety. Tara is so big. I have  _got_ to get back down there before I can't snuggle her any more.”

 

“Oh, you've a while yet,” Hillary cackled. “But you know you're welcome whenever.”

 

She knew Betsy was nodding against the phone, though she couldn't see her, and it made her smile.

 

“Are you doing okay?” Betsy asked. “Is your foot all healed?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Hillary assured. “Has been for a while. I'm fine. Little Miss keeps me up at night, but it's all worth it.”

 

“How's Chelsea with her?”

 

“Amazing,” Hillary told her, eyes sparkling with pride. “She actually  _volunteered_ to help change a diaper the other day.”

 

“Wow,” Betsy said, impressed. “If that's not proof you've raised your children well, I don't know what is.”

 

“Bill said the same thing.”

 

“What do you guys have on the agenda for today?” Betsy questioned after long but companionable pause.

 

“We're waiting for the photographer to get here,” Hillary said. “Family photo shoot.”

 

“Aw,” Betsy cooed. “Send me copies.”

 

“You know I will do.” Hillary smiled to herself, remembering that her friend was the first one she'd thought of when she and Bill had discussed who they should send pictures out to.

 

“Anything else new?”

 

“Um,” Hillary pondered. “Not really. I kinda broached the subject of having another one when Bill and I were falling asleep last night.”

 

“Another...?”

 

“Baby,” Hillary laughed.

 

“Hill, are you insane?” Betsy scoffed, incredulous. “What happened to 'I think I'm done after this one?'”

 

“Oh, I don't know,” Hillary said quickly, defending herself. “I was just sitting there rocking her one day and I couldn't stop crying. We tried so hard for her and now she's here and I just.. I've never been this happy, Betsy. Really, I mean it. I love being a Mum.”

 

“I know you do,” Betsy told her, tone softening. “You're very good at it.”

 

“I try,” Hillary answered quietly, winding the telephone cord lazily around a digit.

 

“What's Bill think of this notion of yours?”

 

“Well,” Hillary exhaled audibly. “I think he's happy you didn't actually kick him in the balls at the hospital two months ago so we actually have a notion to discuss at all,” she joked, and Betsy lost it. “Nah, he's all for it.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah,” Hillary said slowly. “Not right away,” she added. “But soon enough. He has his princesses. I think he really does want a boy.”

 

“Are you gonna be okay if it doesn't happen, love?” Betsy's voice was serious, laced with concern. “I'm not saying it won't,” she said quickly, wanting her friend to know she'd always be in her corner no matter what. “But I saw how broken up you were when you were trying unsuccessfully with both Chels and Tara, and it hurt my heart so badly. I don't want to see you like that again.”

 

“Babe,” Hillary clicked the tip of her tongue against the roof of her mouth, touched by Betsy's open heart and giving, loving nature. “I'm gonna have to be, aren't I? We don't have too much say in the matter in the end. Tara happened, so that kind of renewed my sense of hopefulness a little bit.”

 

“Well,” Betsy mused. “You've never done much of anything in baby steps, have you?”

 

“No,” Hillary laughed softly. “I definitely haven't.” She removed the phone from the crook of her shoulder, held it against her ear with a hand as she sat on a kitchen stool.

 

“I wasn't serious earlier when I asked if you were insane.”

 

“Oh, pfft,” Hillary scoffed good naturedly. “I know that.”

 

“If trying to have one more is absolutely what you want to do,” Betsy told her, “then I support you a hundred and ten percent.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Absolutely,” Betsy affirmed. “Long as I get another god baby out of it.”

 

Hillary smiled into the receiver, feeling it reach into her eyes. “Deal.”

 

“My lunch break is over,” Betsy told her reluctantly, and Hillary could picture in her mind's eye the exact way she was glancing over her shoulder at the clock hanging on the office wall. “Keep me posted on any happenings with this newest development, yeah?”

 

“You bet.”

 

“Kiss my babies,” Betsy said softly. “I'll call back to talk to Chelsea later. Tell Bill hello.”

 

Hillary rose from her stool. “Okay.”

 

“I'll see how much vacation time I've got left and try to work something out to drive down to you really soon.”

 

“Please do.”

 

“I love you, Hill.”

 

“Ditto,” she responded, gently hanging up the phone. She stood with her hand lingering on it a moment longer than necessary before turning back toward the nursery. Toward Tara and Bill, and everything else that mattered. Much as she'd never lived a life taken in baby steps, she was grateful for them. They are what had gotten her to exactly that moment.

 


End file.
